Finding Normal
by SaxonnyRETURNS
Summary: Logan self-appoints himself protector as Marie recovers from an experiment gone wrong. Together they ask themselves: what is normal?
1. Return

It was dark when he arrived; the moon was hidden behind clouds that were pregnant with rain. It would pour any second- he could smell it.

He stalked across the great lawn that expanded in front of the mansion, bigger than a football field, his gunny sack stuffed to the brim and thrown carelessly over one shoulder. Everyone would be asleep.

_Logan. I'm glad to see you_

Logan seethed, a low growl tickling out of his throat. Count on Professor X to sense his arrival, even in the dead of night. And to invade his mind as easily as Logan healed from a wound. Just to get his goat, Logan used the casual nickname he knew the professor hated.

_What's up, Chuck?_

Mild amusement ran directly from Professor Charles Xavier's mind into Logan's.

_Join me for a cup of tea?_

It was more than a request and they both knew it. Logan shook his head free of the mental connection and headed for Professor X's office.

* * *

Logan glanced down at the cup and saucer that was offered to him, raised an eyebrow, and suffered the dainty china in silence out of respect for the Professor. There was a bottle of Jack Daniels at the bottom of his duffel that had his name on it; but right now he had to play house with the cup of Earl Grey. He sniffed it, nostrils flaring, and sipped it with the straightest face he could.

"I am glad you have come, Logan." Xavier was staring at him knowingly, like every thought in Logan's head was an open book that could be read by first graders. Logan felt his lips pulling back into a snarl; he hated the way his defenses were automatically unlocked around the prof. _Fuck this_, he thought. _Let's cut to the chase._

"How is she?" It started as a growl, ended in tightly controlled fear.

"She's fine, Logan, just fine. Hank McCoy is our resident physician while Jean and Scott are on their honeymoon. He says she is in perfect physical health."

The Wolverine in him snorted. There were a thousand different ways to be fucked up in the head, even with a perfect bill of health. Hell, he was humanity's poster boy of health, and there was hardly anything 'normal' about him.

"I understand your concerns. We have them too, which is why I called."

Professor Xavier poured himself another cup of tea and glanced at Logan with bright, keen eyes. "Rogue is...she is having a very difficult time adjusting to her new situation. Ororo has been meeting with her on a daily basis but Rogue refuses to talk about it."

Logan could picture it: a mansion filled with sympathetic, pitying X-Men ready to let Rogue cry on their shoulders, but not understanding that maybe she didn't need a shoulder. She had too much of him inside her; she needed to _fight_. _She doesn't need a shrink_, he thought angrily, forcefully, and the thought slipped across the room to Xavier, who nodded.

"You are correct; she does not need a 'shrink.' She needs a friend. She needs _you_, Logan."

Logan rolled his shoulders uncomfortably and shifted his weight in the delicate office chair he was shoved into. It creaked alarmingly. He slouched even further down on his spine, regarding the older man in the wheelchair across from him under a furrowed brow.

"...who did this to her?"

That got ol' Chuck, Logan noticed. The professor had to set down his cup because his hand shook, his aura of control slipping a few notches. Xavier sighed deeply.

"Rogue, Gambit, and Jubilee were sent to investigate a surge of mutant kinetic energy on a remote island off the coast of California. It was...my fault," he whispered, a hand pressed to his bald pate. "I was so sure it was a minor glitch in Cerebro; nothing to worry about."

Logan's fingers tightened around the cup in anticipation.

"While sweeping the island, Rogue discovered an abandoned military base, hidden from satellite detection...but the base was not as abandoned as she thought. She stumbled across a faction of the Brotherhood while they were conducting genetic experiments."

The tea cup broke in Logan's hands. The Wolverine was howling inside. Professor X calmly passed Logan his handkerchief to mop up the spilled tea. A thin red line ran down Logan's hand; a shard of the china had sliced through his flesh. As Logan watched, uninterested, the wound closed leaving only a smear of blood that he rubbed off on his jeans.

"They...they had taken her and fled before we even knew she was missing."

"Who." It was more of a growl than a question.

"Dr. Sinister. And Mystique."

That bitch. _Third time's a charm, lady; when I see you next you're dead.  
_  
Xavier cleared his throat; the homicidal thought was apparent even without his superior mind-reading abilities. "We located her and dispatched the X-Men immediately to rescue her, but we were...too late. Dr. Sinister had already used her as a test subject for his...machine."

Logan closed his eyes, rubbed his fingers over his temples. He remembered the conversation from two days ago; the phone call that had halted his personal quest for answers in its tracks and caused him to race back to the wayward team of mutants that always seemed to need his help.

No, not the team. Just one.

Rogue. His Marie.

The call. Professor X; cool and precise but lacking that air of calm that normally surrounded him. "_She's very vulnerable right now, both physically and mentally. Unfortunately she will not talk with any of us about it. Everything has changed, she's not sure who she is any more. I thought perhaps you would be the ideal person to speak with her. She trusts you, more than any of the X-Men. Will you come?"_

Like he had a choice.

Logan glanced up; the Prof was staring at him in that calm, omnipotent way. The urge to drink was second only to the urge to tear something up...tear _someone_ up for letting this happen to the kid.

Out of all the thoughts and phrases in his head, there were only three words Logan could think of to say that would be appropriate in civil company.

"Where is she?"

* * *

Not much had changed in the mansion in the years he had been gone. Logan treaded lightly down the hallway; a heavy, determined predator seeking his target, but also stealthy in his hunt. Most people who first met him were surprised that such a big, broad-shouldered man could move so gracefully, and...well, that's where his advantage came in.

Logan remembered so little of his past that what was there in his head was sharp and clear, like looking at life through a magnified lens.

Waking up in the med center two whole days after his run in with Magneto and Sabretooth, when Rogue had almost died. _Would_ have died, if it wasn't for his healing power. Knowing it was time to move on again. Bantering with Jeannie, her sly offhand remark that Rogue was obviously enamored of her burly protector.

"_Well, you can tell her that my heart belongs to someone else_."

What a lie. What a cheap bald-faced lie, said in the heat of the moment, trying to win over another man's woman. The truth was...Rogue was just as much nestled in his heart as Jean was- he loved Rogue, but it was a different kind of love. Jean Grey he had wanted, desired, but Rogue was a kindred spirit, a loner who he had given his protection to. And that wasn't something he gave lightly.

Ever.

She knew before anyone else that he was leaving again. She knew better than anyone that after Jean's apparent death he hadn't wanted to talk about his fluffy fucking bunny feelings; he wanted to hunt, to tear, to hurt, to rage...Rogue accepted his cycle of grief, didn't shy away from it but didn't let him wallow in it either. She knew him, sometimes better than he did. And that was a scary fucking thing.

Professor X had told him in which wing her room was, but even if he hadn't Logan would know. Her scent led him straight to the second floor, to a dark wood door.

With everyone pussyfootin' around what happened to her, speaking in code words, no wonder she was afraid to open up. Logan grunted, dropped his bag, and knocked on the door; three sharp raps.

"Hey." He tried to sound casual, like he stopped by her room in the dead of the night every day. Unfortunately it came out as a short bark, gruff and raw. Great.

There was no answer.

Logan shifted uncomfortably. He may have understood her, but he sure as hell was not a shrink; talking didn't come easy.

"The ah...Prof told me you've been having a hard time at this and..." He growled on a sigh. "I'm not good at these kinds of things...but I'm here if you need me."

Silence.

Logan was exhausted; he was pissed at the world, at the team for letting this happen to such a wonderful kid, and he was way too sober for a Saturday night. He rapped on the door again, hard, and his next words came out way more harshly than he intended.

"Look kid, you gonna make me talk through a door all night?"

The door opened so fast that Logan actually jumped back, his claws shifting in his hands just enough to feel the points prick through his skin. A petite Japanese girl in a short nightshirt stood with one hand on the doorknob and one hand filled with fizzing lights that crackled and smelled of pure electricity. When she saw who it was, she closed her fist; the lights were extinguished.

"Oh. It's you," she said.

Logan raised an eyebrow and glanced beyond the girl into the room. Another girl, this one a sleepy-eyed brunette in a gray sweatshirt, was sitting up in bed looking fairly interested in the entire exchange. The entire room reeked of Rogue, but she was nowhere to be seen.

"You know me?" he growled.

The girl nodded, shifting her weight from a defensive stance to a casual slouch against the doorframe. "You're the Wolverine. You don't remember me, do you?"

Logan racked his brain. "...no."

"I'm Jubilee. Last time I saw you was like...almost three years ago. You helped rescue us from Stryker."

A face was starting to take shape in his head: round and smiling and accented with big dangly earrings and a proto-punk haircut. But that had been years ago; the person standing in front of him was more of a woman than a teenager. Had it really been that long?

"You look different," he finally thought of to say.

"You look the same," she countered.

By now the roommate had deemed it in her best interest to join in the conversation. This one he remembered; she was the first mutant he had seen to use their abilities so casually as she strolled through a closed door as if it hadn't been there.

He nodded at her. "Kitty."

She nodded back, looking extremely flattered that he remembered. "That's me. You're looking for Rogue, aren't you?"

He nodded.

"She's not here."

Instinctively he sniffed the air and then glowered.

Jubilee added quickly, "She's _here_, of course, she's just not here _right now_."

It was the darkest part of night. "Do you know where she is?"

"She likes to walk...by the lake..." Jubilee offered.

"By herself? And you guys let her?"

"It's the Professor's property," Kitty defended. "She's a big girl."

Logan told her in no uncertain terms what he thought of that attitude.

"There's no need to be rude," she said.

"If she comes back-" he bit out.

"We'll let her know you were looking for her," Jubilee said, her hand on the doorknob as a definite sign that the conversation was over. He grunted out a noncommittal thank you and turned from the door. He heard Kitty's whispered giggle to Jubilee before the door shut completely.

"You're right, he does have a nice ass!"

_Slam.  
_  
Logan shook his head ruefully and stalked off in the direction of the guest room.


	2. Found

It stopped raining.

Logan tramped through dead leaves, not bothering to mask his footsteps. Instead he sipped on the bottle of Jack Daniels he held gripped in a tight fist, reveled in his cigar, tracked Marie's trail...and contemplated.

The last time Logan was here, Marie was eighteen, graduating high school and well on her way to becoming a full-fledged member of the X-Men. She had also been dating Bobby. That had been hard to get used to; seeing Marie not as the lost girl who needed protecting but as the young woman with hips and breasts and a dazzling smile that shined like a beacon whenever he was around. It made Bobby jealous and amused the hell out of Logan; young Iceman actually considered the Wolverine a threat. What a laugh.

_Right._

Some thoughts, once awakened, didn't like to go back to sleep. It had been easy to look at Marie through the eyes of a father-figure when she was younger. It was when Mystique...when _fucking_ Mystique had offered herself to him in any form he wanted, that he saw his friend in a whole new light. As the blue-skinned metamorph transformed into Jean Grey he had been marginally tempted but it was when she slid into the form of Marie, _his_ Marie that he had felt the first stirring of desire behind the fly of his jeans. A knowing look had filled Mystique's eyes when she felt him against her thigh and he shoved her off, _furious _that she had dared.

Women had one place in his life: in his bed but not his heart. Keep Marie a little girl and she could remain comfortably in his life as his ward, his friend, but allow her to grow up...well, how would she fit into his life then? He only used women for a quick lay, and Marie was_ not _a one night stand.

He growled.

The sun was rising in the East; Logan veered to the northwest, following her scent. It was going to be a sunny autumn day but right now it was still a chilly morning; he could see his breath in the air. Another long sip of the whiskey took the edge off the cold.

Mystique. _Fucking Mystique_. She turned the one person in his life that he cherished unconditionally into...into something he was afraid to think about. He had already tried to kill Mystique twice but if God was good to him, he'd get another chance.

Her scent crept up on him; one second he was estimating she was still half a mile off and the next she was sitting on a log right in front of him. She was wrapped in a slightly damp wool blanket and her face was turned to the sun rising over the lake. Her back was to him; she didn't move or speak, anything to acknowledge the presence that she _had_ to know was there.

Logan ventured forward. As he rounded the fallen log, he saw that an arm was poking out of the blanket, held suspended in the air. He drew closer, and saw a butterfly with wings the color of fresh indigo resting in her palm. He realized it wasn't the sunrise she was staring at; it was the butterfly that was cupped in her hand.

Her _bare_ hand.

"You didn't have to come."

Her casual tone belied the anger behind the low, sugary voice. No _hello_, no _how are you_, nothing that implied that turning up at her doorstep after a few years was anything but ordinary.

"I wanted to." Logan crouched next to her, watching the butterfly move across her skin, unharmed. The wings opened and closed.

A living thing was touching her skin and nothing was happening.

Without warning Marie shook the insect off her wrist and drew her arm back into the damp blanket, slouching over, closing Logan out. There was really only one way he knew how to approach this. He sat down on the log next to her, feeling the cold bark through his worn jeans, his shaggy hair standing up in wild spikes thanks to the wet mist that draped low over the ground. He drew in a deep toke on his cigar and held out the half-empty bottle of whiskey.

"Drink?"

Without a word, she grabbed the bottle and, with a hint of her former smile on her face, chugged the rest in under ten seconds. She coughed explosively, eyes watering but grinning mirthlessly at the look of shock on his face, and threw the empty bottle into the woods where it shattered.

He was awed. "Good god, darlin', where'd you learn to drink like that?"

She rubbed her nose with the back of her hand and shrugged.

"I had you in my head for awhile...natural side effect, I guess."

Now it was Logan's turn to stay silent, brooding and drawing on his cigar. It was so much simpler to protect her from a physical threat; from the bad guys who used force...that he knew how to do. The Prof and Ororo had it wrong; there was nothing he could say to make it better, no magical words to make the pain go away...

So. If he couldn't fight and he couldn't talk, what could he do?

Without thought, Logan scooted closer to Rogue, to _Marie_; she wasn't really Rogue anymore was she? He stubbed out his cigar and as gently as he could, pulled her to him. She resisted at first but she was weakened by the alcohol, was so tired of fighting, of pretending that life could continue as _normal_ that she gave in, her face crumbling under the weight of uncertainty about herself, her future.

"It's ok, darlin' it's ok. It's gonna be ok," he repeated over and over again as she wrapped her arms around him, sobbing, her cheek against his chest, his hands stroking her hair again and again as if he was soothing a wounded animal. Her body shook with wet, gasping breaths of sorrow. "It's ok."

* * *

She cried herself empty, and dozed against his chest. The alcohol and the feel of his arms around her made her feel like she was in a cocoon of safety, a baby in a womb with no thought and no worries.

Eventually though, the strong embrace became uncomfortable; her right leg was falling asleep and his inherent stiffness reminded her just how unfamiliar Logan was with physical comfort. She lifted her head; her eyes turned up to search his and then dropped back down in dismay at the look of pity on his face. Great, just what she needed, someone else to feel bad for her.

"Sorry." She pushed herself off him quickly and he let her.

"No problem, kid."

She sniffed and tucked her hair behind her ears. They stared, sizing each other up quietly. Could he tell? Could he see the difference? She was just Marie now. Nothing special.

He finally spoke first. "Your hair's longer. Makes you look older."

"I _am_ older."

"Yeah." Said roughly, it summed up all his thoughts on that subject. Everyone gets older; he stays the same. "How old are you now, anyway?"

"Twenty-one."

How old did that make him? In all the years he had searched for answers, he still didn't know his own damn age. "Jesus."

"If you came here to make me feel better, it's not workin'."

"You have everyone worried, kid."

She gave him a grin that was anything but happy. "So in comes the big bad wolf to save the day, huh?" She wanted to run away from him but the only place she had to run to right now was back to the mansion, back to Kitty and Jubes who didn't understand why she was so upset, back to the pitying looks of Ororo and Professor X and the rest of the kids at the school. It was either there or here, under the eyes of the one man who could get inside her easier than anyone else. She stood downwind of the rock and just east of the hard place. Which left her without a lot of room to maneuver within the boundaries of politeness.

"You're thinking of running." He was blunt.

Marie shrugged casually. "Maybe. It's not like I belong here anymore."

"That's not true."

Quick as a thought she was beside him, the blanket cast aside, her cold hands grasping his tightly. His eyes were wide at the physical contact; hearing she wasn't a mutant and seeing, _feeling_ the proof were two different things. She was undaunted. "I am officially a homo sapiens. I couldn't drain your energy even if I wanted to."

Logan stared at her hands so long she felt uncomfortable and withdrew them, wrapping her arms around herself. She leaned back against the log.

"Is that what you want? To have your gift back?"

Marie sighed. And there was the crux of the dilemma, the war between her head and her heart. Jubilee, Kitty, Ororo, Gambit...they didn't understand why she wasn't thrilled to be released from what over half the planet considered a curse. _Especially_ her, out of any other mutant; her gift was the most restricting, the most dangerous. It was hard enough to be a teenager and try to wade through the first stirrings of hormones. Add to that the fact that she could never touch anyone, well...it made for a lot of lonely nights. Years and years of them, to be exact. So great...she didn't have to worry about that anymore; she could fuck everyone in the mansion now without fear of killing them with a mere kiss. Jubilee had pointed _that _out in not so many words, and it only caused Marie to sink deeper into depression. Sure, she could go out and have meaningless physical gratification now, but she couldn't fly on missions. She didn't know how to protect herself...she couldn't be a part of the X-Men. And if she wasn't a member of the team, what business did she have staying here?

"I don't know what I want," she grumbled.

"That's fair. You don't have to figure out everything this week."

He was looking at her now, and Logan was the kind of man that looked at someone so intently it was as if the rest of the world wasn't there. For that exact moment, Marie knew that she was the center of his world, and it made her shiver.

"You cold?"

"No."

Logan sighed and hooked the blanket with his foot, picking it up. He wrapped it around himself like a cloak and then opened his arms, inviting her into his embrace. She was careful to keep her face neutral.

"C'mon, kid, I ain't gonna bite."

It was her turn to sigh. She was about to politely turn him down when a gust of cold wind blew right past her. Marie shivered again, gasping slightly. The weather had horrible timing when Storm wasn't around to guide it.

Without a word she crawled across the log and nestled into the offered embrace. His arms wrapped around her and Marie was enfolded in the warm wool blanket and Logan's scent; rich tobacco and spices and just...him. Eventually she stopped shivering and relaxed against him; his chest a wall of solid muscle at her back that vibrated with a low growl.

"You smell good, kid," he rasped. "But you also smell...different."

Marie rested her head against his shoulder, staring out over the lake. Every single fear she had disappeared in his arms. Of course, that didn't mean it was the safest place for her, either...

"It's probably because...ya know...I'm normal now."

"There ain't no such thing as normal, darlin."

A snort from her. "I still can't believe they let you teach an English class with that horrible grammar."

That brought a laugh, a quick harsh bark that echoed out of his chest into her body. For the first time in weeks, Marie smiled, really smiled- she did like it so when she made him laugh. No one else could make him laugh but her.

"It was only one class; after that they moved me to Phys Ed, remember?"

She did. It was a few weeks before her nineteenth birthday, right before Jean was resurrected. Soon after Dr. Grey's amazing homecoming, however Logan had taken to the road again, probably because the sight of Jean and Scott so happy was too much to deal with. The smile slowly slipped off her face at the reminder of why he left.

Her hands had crept up to hold onto his forearms that were wrapped around her in a bear hug. Unconsciously, she trailed her fingers down to his wrists; it took her a few moments to realize she was actually touching his skin, warm and lightly brushed with hair beneath her fingers. Immediately she yanked her hands back, balled them in her lap.

"Don't." God, that word rasped into her ear made her want to melt.

"Don't what?"

"You don't ever have to be afraid to touch me."

Those words brought up dark, erotic images she'd rather not think of while he could detect her scent. "I'm not afraid," she insisted quickly. "I'm just not used to...touchin' people."

"_We're_ touching, darlin," he murmured.

"You know what I mean." Marie twisted her head just enough to glare at him. "I'm not used to touching _skin_."

He remained silent. After a few minutes, her hands crept up again, her fingers resting lightly on his bare wrists. She wasn't looking at him but she could almost feel his grin. Dammit.

"I don't want you runnin' out there all alone, kid," he growled.

She didn't want to run. But she sure didn't feel like she belonged here anymore, and she told him so.

"That's bullshit. The Prof said this is your home and he meant it. This isn't a mutant-only club ya know."

"I know. But..." It took her a moment to form the thought. "...but I don't fit in. No one wanted to be near me when my skin was dangerous and they're still afraid to get close. Like now I'm contagious, or something, they might lost their powers."

"You're not contagious darlin," Logan said, and gave her shoulders an extra squeeze.

"The only people who've even _tried_ to touch me are you and-" Marie broke off suddenly, tensing in Logan's arms. Man o man, she couldn't' tell Logan about-

"Who?" Logan growled, in that commanding tone of voice that people knew well enough to back away from him when they heard it.

She sighed. "Gambit."

"That damn Cajun?" Logan didn't know him that well but if he messed with Marie, they'd get to know each other. REAL well.

"Knock it off." This was officially the most embarrassing conversation she had ever had with Logan; she expected _him_ to have flings; of COURSE he did. He was the Wolverine. _Her_ sexuality was a whole 'nother topic. Logan tended to get over-protective when boyfriends were involved, never mind his affinity for embarrassing her with his brutal honesty, like he did when he first learned she was dating Bobby.

_So how do you two, uh _

"Anyway," she continued quickly, eager to drop the subject, "I said no. I'm not ready for that. I'm kind of avoiding him at the moment. I'm avoiding _everyone_ at the moment."

"No kiddin', sweetheart."

She glanced over her shoulder and froze; his face was so close, his eyes so intense...God, when were they not? It wasn't exactly the same kind of look she would sometimes catch him giving Jean; those looks were sly and playful and full of fire. But it was definitely similar- the look on his face made her heart hurt. Unfortunately, her fingers tightened on his arm in unrestrained anticipation; her breath quickened in THAT way, and instantly he was looking elsewhere and clearing his throat before she could say 'Teenage Crush.' Fuck. Hastily she pulled away from him, sliding off the log and tugging her blanket out of his grasp. She cocooned herself in it and stood silently, her face frozen into a noncommittal feature.

"I don't wanna go back right now. And you can't make me."

Logan sighed. "I know a place you can hang while you...while you work some stuff out," he growled. "No one will bother you there."


	3. Removed

Marie looked at the log cabin in dismay. "Shit, Logan, horror movies start in a place like this."

Her honest statement was rewarded with another bark of a laugh. "Don't knock it 'til you've tried it, darlin'. It has running water and electricity."

They approached the squat building slowly. "And you're sure this is...legal?" She swallowed. She wanted some privacy, some time to think, but she didn't want to be killed by an insane stalker/rapist/skin-wearing horror movie monster. They had been walking for at least an hour; that meant the mansion was long gone; they were in the _wilderness._

"We're still on the Prof's land. This here used to be where hunters stayed."

Realization dawned. Marie cast him a sideways glance. "You've been here before, haven't you?"

Logan caught her eyes evaluating him, ducked his head and coughed roughly. "Sometimes...when I needed to get away from the Mansion...from...things."

_From seeing Jean and Scott is more like it_, Marie thought, and tugged the blanket closer. He stalked to the door and shoved his weight against it. She followed him into the cabin.

_This is his lair. Jesus, how many times had she thought he was running when all he was really doing was hanging out a few miles away? The entire place smells like cigars, pine and leaves and...Logan..._

"Not bad," she allowed quietly as he cruised the floor, flicking on a light switch. It was smaaaaaaaaaaaaaall. The main room was a living room, library, and kitchen all in one. The pine floors appeared clean. Books were piled along the wall to the side of a well-worn couch that sat in front of a fireplace. Shelves housed dishes and a hot plate.

"Bathroom's through there; it's just a toilet, sink and shower; no fancy frills. Bedroom's in here-" Logan opened the door and stood aside as Marie poked her head through the door.

She eyed the double bed warily. After the bed and nightstand, there was about six square inches of space left in the tiny room. "Did you say bedroom or _closet_?"

"I know it ain't much, but...it's a quiet place to think."

Marie stood in the center of the cabin, feeling semi-alright for the first time in a long while. This was just what she needed; to be left alone, without Gambit trying to seduce her, without Kitty and Jubes pressuring her into doing something she wasn't ready for yet. She had been Rogue for so long, it would be a chance to find out who Marie was.

"Thanks Logan...this is great, really." She yawned so big it threatened to split her face in two. His image blurred as exhaustion caught up with her.

"Listen, kid, why don't you take a nap. I have to...go back...for awhile. I can get some of your stuff if you want."

"You don't-" Another yawn. "have to," Yaaaaaaaaawn. "do that," she finished. "I can get it myself later."

"Don't worry 'bout it. Just get some sleep."

Marie plodded off in the direction of the bedroom, missing the last bit of Logan's quiet direction.

"'Cause tomorrow, kid, we start your trainin'."

* * *

"I don't care what you think, _Chuck_, she's not comfortable here. So you can take your good intentions and-"

Logan barely managed to keep the last words inside his mouth. The Professor didn't look too happy at his refusal to coax Rogue back to the mansion. And the Wolverine was not backing down. No way.

"You _do_ realize that she is withdrawing into herself?" Anger caused Xavier's voice to raise and lower in rapid succession. "What is real in her mind may not be the truth; she needs to see that she is welcome here, that this is her home no matter what has happened."

Logan again barely managed to restrain a growl. Barely. "You can't tell her what to feel. She needs time to figure it out."

"Hidden away from the rest of us? We cannot protect her-"

"You don't have to, bub," His voice was low and dangerous. "_I'll_ protect her."

Xavier's brow wrinkled, but he remained silent. It was apparent even to the non-telepathic that Rogue had a pedestal in her heart and Logan was perched precariously on top of it. Yet he couldn't deny the connection between the two; ever since his X-Men rescued them years ago in Canada, there had been a bond that tied Rogue and Wolverine together. From talking with Rogue over the last few years, Xavier had learned that she had only really met Logan minutes before they were rescued by the team and brought to Westchester. Whatever had happened in those brief minutes, it had been enough to make Logan step outside his normal persona of the lone Wolverine, and become loyal protector to the girl he knew as Rogue.

_I'm not gonna hurt you, kid _

It's nothing personal...it's just that when people touch my skin...something happens...when they come out...does it hurt?

Every time

So what kind of a name is Rogue?

I don't know...what kind of a name is Wolverine?

My name's Logan...

Marie...

Charles Xavier rubbed his fingers across his bald pate. It was not about his personal judgment; it was about what was best for Rogue. She talked to no one more than Logan...

"Very well."

Chuck agreeing with him? It took Logan a few seconds to register the fact that the Prof wasn't going to oppose him. The desire to growl, to fight was still there, and he had to pull the rope around the Wolverine's muzzle, had to physically force his body to back away from battle mode and relax. "Well, okay then." Logan stood and headed for the door.

"Logan." Professor Xavier had one more thing to say. "Be gentle."

Logan bared his teeth, halfway between a grin and a scowl and sent his answer directly to Chuck's brain. _Aren't I always_?

Logan stalked out.

* * *

On his second trip through the woods behind the mansion, Logan was loaded down with three overstuffed canvas army bags. It was slow moving, and it was well after dark before he was within view of the cabin. A light shone through the crude window, and when he reached the door, he saw it was ajar.

_He had left it closed._

His defenses automatically were raised, but he wasn't at Defcon One yet. He pushed inside and set the makeshift luggage down with a sigh of relief.

"Marie?"

No answer. The bedroom door was open, and she wasn't inside. The blanket she had been dragging through the forest lay in a pile in front of the fireplace.

He had left her in the middle of the woods. Sure it was Charles's property, but anyone could have wandered in, and Marie was no longer a mutant, _she couldn't defend herself she could be dead and it would be all his fault- _

The bathroom door creaked open and her head poked out.

"Hey. Anyone ever tell you ya have great timing?"

Logan stood, dumbly, in the center of the cabin, trying to rein in his panic. _Marie. Not hurt. Marie. In the shower._

"Please tell me you brought a towel in one of those bags." Marie smiled hopefully at him, a puddle forming on the floor beneath her. "Or else I'm going to have to go outside and shake off like a dog."

_Move, move, move to the bags, _do something_ for fuck's sake_, and Logan had no clue how he was going to explain the hot fear that rose in the back of his throat like bile at the thought of something happening to her.

Stiffly, he withdrew a fluffy pink towel from one of the bags. A bare arm the color of cream and still dripping from the shower reached around the door; he tossed it and she caught it deftly.

"Thanks darlin'," she drawled and shut the door, leaving Logan alone, the thudding of his heart the only sound in the room. He ran a palm over his eyes. Fuck. All he saw was one pale arm and already his heart felt like it had just run a marathon. His mind screamed at him, all the arguments and rationalizations he had for not thinking about her in that way. After a few moments of fighting it he realized he'd lost the battle. With a groan he adjusted himself and scowled. Naturally, Marie chose that moment to emerge from the bathroom in a cloud of steam and clean scent, wearing only the towel and a bright smile that she flashed in his direction as she headed for the bedroom.

His jeans suddenly became very painful. Air, he needed air.

The door was three paces away; he was at it in less than a second.

"Where are you goin?"

"Out," he growled, more animal than man, and slammed the door behind him.


	4. Safe

Marie was sprawled on the worn couch, engrossed in a copy of the book Red Dragon she found in the quasi-library, when he returned. Logan slammed through the door and grunted a 'hello', his cheeks flushed and muscles overworked from attacking trees with an axe. In his arms was a healthy pile of firewood, and he dumped it noisily by the fireplace. Marie barely looked up from her book; he felt the uncomfortable need to fill the silence.

"You found your stuff okay?"

"Yeah." She finally looked up. " Say...you uh...did _you_ pack my things?"

He shook his head and squatted on his haunches, bending to the task of starting a fire. "Jubilee and Kitty took care of your clothes and stuff. They said they'd know what to pack."

Ah. So that would explain the ten pairs of lacy panties and emerald silk nightgown. Marie let out a shaky breath, half disappointed that he didn't pick those pieces out himself.

"And ah...why is one of the bags filled with...your stuff?" She tried to look casual. It took him awhile to answer.

"...'Cause I'm stayin' here too."

There was only one reason the Wolverine would agree to share her space, and Marie got mad. "I'm not a baby. I don't need you to watch out for me."

"I know you're not a baby," he growled, "but you can't be out here alone. You're vulnerable right now. Got no defenses against an attack."

"I thought you said this was Xavier's land...who's going to attack me?"

"Ya can never be too prepared."

Marie threw down her book and slid off the couch, turning her back to him. "No, but _you_ can be too _paranoid_," she muttered spitefully, and then yelped as he grabbed her around the waist, yanking her against him from behind. Her arms flew up to hit him but he easily avoided the blows, gathering both her wrists in one strong hand and holding them high over her head.

"Get _off _of me!" she spat, twisting in his grasp. It only caused him to tighten his arm around her waist, the breath whooshing from her lungs.

"_We live in a tough world that doesn't give a shit about you or me_," he growled. "You've depended on your gift to get you out of scrapes...now you have to depend on your fighting skill."

Marie half-turned her face to glare at him out of the corner of her eye. "The big bad wolf gets philosophical? What next, Jubilee joining a convent?" Again she squirmed; again he tightened his grip.

"Don't push me kid. I'm stayin' here and I'm gonna teach you how to fight."

"I _know_ how to fight."

His chin in the crook of her shoulder, his lips practically against her ear. "No. Not that kind of fighting," he rasped. His hot breath flowing over her skin like one of her silk scarves, Marie couldn't repress the shiver than ran up her spine. "To REALLY fight."

"I had you in my head for a long time, Logan. You knew how to fight, so I know how to fight."

"Knowin' it and doin' it are two different things. Otherwise you would have remembered lesson number one, darlin'. Never turn your back on the enemy." He released her and she immediately stepped away, rubbing her wrists and glaring at him with a wounded look on her face.

"Is that what you are? The enemy?"

"Whenever you're fighting, the other person is always the enemy, whether its practice or real." He reached for his bag, rifled through it and brought out a black case. He tossed it at her, she caught it deftly.

"What's this?"

"Consider it a loan 'til we can buy ya some of your own."

She opened the slim black case and gasped. Two knives lay against black velvet.

"Those are 3070 Primitive Bowie knives, thirteen and a half inches long, hardwood grip and brass guard. I have two arm-sheaths. They should be good enough to start you on."

"Whoa whoa _whoa_. Back up there a second, cowboy. I've taken all the required self-defense classes…you've seen me in action…why do I need to become a knife-wielding maniac?"

He half-turned. "I'm gonna teach you how to shoot, too."

Marie seethed. "I thought you brought me here so I could have some peace and quiet."

Logan shrugged. "There's no TV here, no computer, no Danger Room. What else'r you gonna do with your time?"

It was typical Logan Logic that she could never argue with. But she tried. "Not get my assed kicked by YOU."

That was met with laughter, honest to God laughter. "C'mon, darlin' it'll be just like the old days." Before Jean came back, before he chose the road over the chaos that lay heavy in his heart, they used to spar with each other. "I'll even let you win a few times." There, that brought a smile to her face.

"Who says_ I_ wasn't letting _you_ win?" she sassed.

Logan laughed again and bent to the fire. "While we're arguing, you hungry?"

Suddenly she was. "Starved."

* * *

"So," Marie mumbled around a mouthful of red-hot chili, "You're staying here."

"Uh-huh." Logan was perched on the end of the couch, wolfing down bowl after bowl of chili. A fire was roaring diligently in the fireplace and the small room had heated up quite substantially.

"Where _exactly_ were you planning on sleeping?" It was a perfectly adult question to ask.

"Outside. I brought my gear with me. When it gets too cold…the couch. Or the floor."

She stopped chewing. He was serious. He would sleep outside on the ground for god knows how long to protect her. In the years he had been away she had doubted the bond they shared but here it was, strong as ever. Why?

"Thank you," she said suddenly, surprised she even spoke.

Logan glanced at her then back at his bowl of chili. "What for?"

"For…this. You didn't have to come. But you did. So...thank you." When he didn't say anything, she added quietly, "...I've missed you, you know."

Logan dropped his spoon in the bowl and threw the bowl in the sink. "I missed you too, kid." He looked at her. "You done?"

She nodded and handed him her bowl, watching in amusement as the big bad Wolverine started to do the dishes.

"Got any more Jack Daniels?"

That won her a rakish glance over his shoulder, one eyebrow arched, a sly grin on his face. "Are you serious?"

"About wanting a drink or about thinking you didn't have some close at hand?"

"Both."

Marie matched his wolf-hungry grin. "C'mon, I'm tired of everyone trying to get me to _taaaaaaaalk_ about my _feeeeeeeeelings_," she drawled dramatically. "I just wanna forget about what happened and pretend everything is normal. I want to have some mindless fun."

Man oh man, did that sound familiar. She must have retained more of his habits than he realized; this was exactly how he had dealt with his grief after the disastrous mission at Alkali Lake. Was it really a good idea to be drinking around her? Just three hours ago he manically chopped through four trees with an axe before he had managed to grab the reins of his control that slipped from his hands after watching her step from the shower. It _wasn't_ a good idea; like Chuck said, he shouldn't let her ignore the problem...

"What, are you...chicken?" she taunted.

He finished the dishes and wiped his soapy hands on a towel, one eyebrow raised and a predatory grin on his face. The challenge had been issued, and the Wolverine didn't back away from a challenge.

* * *

He should have backed away from this challenge. He should have run back to the hills with his tail tucked between his legs, away from this challenge. He should have-

"C'mon, darlin, it's your turn," Marie drawled, breaking into his thoughts. She was holding the mostly empty bottle of whiskey to him, smiling a little too widely to be sober. Her cheeks were flushed from the bite of the alcohol. In a thick white cable knit sweater, grey leggings and fuzzy grey socks, she looked warm, soft, and good enough to eat.

He took the bottle from her, and she swayed slightly, leaning back against the couch and giggling. They were sitting on the floor in front of the fire and toasting each other with every shot. So far they had made their way through world peace, John Wayne movies, power ballads, kicking the shit out of a stranger, Edgar Allen Poe, Canadian beer, Salvador Dali, friendship, and Big Macs.

"What're we drinking to now?" Watching her lick her lips and try to focus through a cloud of whiskey was fifty percent amusing and fifty percent dangerous to the pressure behind the fly of his jeans.

"How about...Sesame Street?" she slurred.

He thought for a minute. "That kid's show?"

"Yup. I used to love Snuffmaga…Mufflepush…Snufflepupa…fuck, that mammoth thing," she swore eventually, giggling.

"Sesame Street it is then," he said and brought the bottle to his lips, throwing his head back, a look of intense pleasure on his face as he felt the burn of the whiskey ride all the way down his throat to the pit of his stomach. He may not be as drunk as Marie, but he was feeling very…nice. For good measure and since there wasn't much left, he tipped the bottle up and drank the last ounce of whiskey. A drop leaked out the side of his mouth and trailed down his the side of his throat.

Marie noticed. "Hey sugar, you're wastin' good booze!" As quick as a thought she leaned over, licked the whiskey off his neck with a giggle, and fell back against the couch with a smartass grin plastered on her plastered face. The entire thing happened so fast he barely registered her tongue on his skin before it was over. "Yum," she laughed, too drunk to see the fire that burned in his eyes.

"Marie…" Most likely whatever he was about to say was going to end in a statement that would alter their relationship forever. Before he could figure out what exactly that was, Marie went from giggling like a girl to frowning and looking miserable.

"I don't feel so good." That was a lie; she looked like she was actually about to feel pretty bad. All over the floor as a matter of fact, if he didn't get her outside in the next ten seconds.

"C'mon darlin'," he muttered, resigned to the inevitable, and in one practiced move scooped her up against his chest and hustled out the door to the bushes where Marie promptly threw up everything she had drank over the course of the evening. He waited until she was done retching miserably, and then carried her back to the cabin and into the tiny bedroom. Caretaker, friend, wolf, man, confidant, protector…it amazed him that he could even fill half those roles; not him, the lone Wolverine. But here he was, depositing Marie on the bed as gently as if she were made of glass.

Her head hit the pillow and she looked up at him with dark, bloodshot eyes. Her hand latched onto his, tugging imploringly. "Don't leave," she whispered low and husky, her throat raw from her night of drinking and violent sickness. Her thumb rubbed warm circles across his knuckles, right over that tender bit where his claws rested just beneath his skin.

He growled. "I don't think that's such a good idea, sweetheart."

She stuck out her lower lip and gave him the most miserable look he had ever seen. "Please? Please Logan…"

He sighed. He had traveled over a thousand miles because she needed him…he wanted badly to give her the comfort she was asking for, but was he strong enough? He laughed quietly but it wasn't a happy sound. He had fought mutants three times his size, he had been cut open and suffered molten metal poured into him, he had even faced down the man that had done it…and yet here he was, scared into a cold sweat at the idea of sharing a bed with Marie.

"I just…I just don't wanna be alone," she whispered on a broken sigh, her eyes drifting shut of their own accord. She fell back against the pillow.

_God_.

He was her friend. He could do it for his friend. Careful not to disturb her, he crawled onto the double bed and covered them both with the worn comforter. Immediately Marie rolled onto her side and draped her arm across his chest, her cheek a warm comforting weight through his t-shirt.

"Mmm," she purred softly, content. Ten seconds later her breathing had slowed and deepened; she was fast asleep.

Logan was surprised at how perfectly she fit against his body. He'd slept in a lot of places, some of them more menacing than others. But no matter where he'd been, he'd kept a constant vigil; at least one sense left awake to detect any threat. Between staying alert and his constant nightmares, he never rested so deeply that he could call his sleep 'peaceful.' But this…this was the most dangerous spot in the world. Because what if he _did_ sleep peacefully next to her? What would that mean?

While he was turning the troubled thought over in his head, he fell asleep.


	5. Recovery

Waking up was a slow process for Marie; she climbed leisurely out of her dream, her body waking up about two minutes before her mind registered the fact that her head felt like it was cleft in two. She groaned and tried to move, her eyes still swollen shut.

A heavy weight held her down, and a husky voice growled insensibly in her ear. She couldn't sit up, she hurt all over, she began to panic as flashbacks of The Experiment flickered through her mind. An image of Mystique as the blue bitch locked her down on the table, grinning at the hatred in Marie's brown glare.

Torn between sleep and panic, she opened her eyes, her mouth dropping open and her heart lurching as she registered the fact that she was safe, she was okay, and she was the acting pillow of a fast-asleep Logan.

She was flat on her back and he was wrapped around her like a vine, one arm draped over her ribcage, just below the swell of her breasts, the other tucked above his head. His left leg rested intimately across her lower hip and his head was tucked into the crook of her neck, his breath warm and steady against the sensitive skin along her throat. And she thought the dream about camels munching on her ear and breathing down her neck had been _random_.

"Logan?" she whispered, and then grimaced; the inside of her mouth felt like sandpaper. Jesus, _how much had she drank_? More importantly, what the hell had she said to him that got him to agree to _this_?

Marie cleared her throat and tried again. "Logan? Can you…uhhhh…" she trailed off as he snuggled impossibly closer, sleepily thrusting his hips against her. Now she froze, her blood running like ice through her veins as she registered a hardness pressed up against her hip. She had never woken up next to someone before, and only half-heartedly paid attention to Jubilee when she was off on a rant about the male anatomy, but she knew what it was. What had Jubilee called it? _Morning wood_?

Marie growled. "Damn." All the times she had fantasized about this very thing, and she had to pee horribly. And brush her teeth. And shower. Staying in bed was not an option. Ten minutes and another lazy thrust later, she managed to extricate herself from his embrace without waking him. She stood over Logan for a moment, marveling at how easy he slept, and how comfortable he looked in her bed. It was a far cry from the first time she stood at his bedside, hesitant about waking him but drawn by his nightmare-induced cries. That evening hadn't ended well _at all_…

She staggered into the bathroom. Her head was overwhelmed from the feel of his body against her, and her stomach overwhelmed from the amount of whiskey she had consumed last night.

She brushed her teeth, emptied her bladder, and stripped out of her sweater and leggings, turning the shower up as hot as it would go. Stepping into the spray she hissed but didn't shy away. She stood there, still as a statue, hands braced against the cheap plastic shower stall.

Waking up wrapped around Logan was more intimate than anything she had ever experienced before in her life. Kissing Bobby, playing footsie with David, was absolutely _nothing_ compared to the mindless contentment she felt in Logan's arms. For the first time since she was rescued, she began to see the advantages of being _normal_; began to actually consider the idea that there were some people she'd be very _very_ comfortable touching…as much as she possibly could-

"Fuck, fuck, _fuck_."

Sure she loved him, it was as natural as breathing. He had almost died to protect her- NUMEROUS times; of _course_ he held a piece of her heart. But it wasn't _always_ drama and danger and unrequited love between them; they used to take long walks together and linger over coffee in the kitchen. Usually she would chatter and he would listen in that brooding, glowering way of his but every now and then she got him to talk. About coming to terms with his past, about being alone, about losing Jean.

Then Jean was resurrected as the Phoenix. Old behaviors started resurfacing. Marie had been flustered, unsure of her rank in Logan's life. Even though she was an adult by all standards, she still felt like a child next to Jean Grey. Jean, for her part, gave Logan the cold shoulder; she had made her decision and it was not the Wolverine. And as hard as he tried to pretend he wasn't upset by the rebuke, Marie had the bit of him in her head that knew better.

She was hurt but she wasn't surprised when he chose the road over the comfortable life of teaching at the Institute. Marie had always been aware of the possibility that there would come a time when he'd fade from her life and become a part of her past, and she'd gotten used to the idea that that time had come. When he left again, she realized that she could no longer rely on him; just like Jean he had made his choice and it didn't include her.

She'd been through tough times before, difficult missions that sometimes failed, more than once she had ended up in the MedLab with injuries, and he hadn't come back _then_. She was so used to _not_ having him around. She wasn't kidding when she had said she missed him, but a small, bitter part of her wished he hadn't come back. She could shrug off her feelings for him as a child's infatuation if he was a memory. It was quite another thing when she woke up in the arms of the flesh and blood man.

Her stomach sank as she realized that if she let him back into her heart, she wasn't sure she'd be able to watch him leave again. And he _would_ leave, he always did. She wasn't enough for him to want to settle down-

She twisted the water off and savagely toweled herself dry. Pondering, philosophizing, _pining_ was not going to get her anywhere.

She yanked on a pair of gray sweatpants, a sports bra, and a black racer back camisole. She needed to clear her thoughts. She took a clean towel and marched outside the cottage. She picked a level piece of earth underneath a towering pine and spread the towel on the ground.

Kitty had turned her onto yoga a year ago, and Marie had latched on with a surprising enthusiasm. It helped her focus her mind as well as maintain a grip on the thoughts of people she had absorbed.

She started her standard warm-up. Centering into herself, she began her Ujjayi breathing, moving into her easy Asanas when she felt ready. Powered by the victorious breath and warm muscles, she moved fluidly from the standard Sun Salutation to moderately difficult leg raises, the Plough, various Bridges, and was halfway into the standing Downward Dog Pose when she felt his presence. He was intruding on her inner center, almost vibrating around her as she stretched and bent and stood, but she refused to acknowledge him. She wrapped up her routine with the Bow and the Crow, working on her sitting bones in a Supine Asana and finally the Corpse pose; relaxing each body part in turn.

When she was good and ready, she rolled onto her side and stood, stretching lithely. She was hot; Ashtanga was as strenuous as a cardiovascular workout. When she turned, he was gone; the cabin door was open. She grinned ruefully and picked up her towel, shook the pine needles out of it. Typical Logan; got bored of waiting around. She headed back to the cabin.

* * *

When Logan woke up he was disoriented. It took him about half a minute to realize why.

He wasn't tense, like he usually was after a fitful sleep. In fact, for lack of a better word he felt…awesome. His head wasn't pounding as it normally did from grinding his teeth together all night long. And he was completely covered in Marie's scent. Doused with it. It was the most relaxing smell in the entire world; he wanted to growl and burrow back under the covers, rub his face in the scent.

But…

If her scent was here, where was Marie?

He slid out of bed, rubbed his hand over his face. Shuffling into the main room, he saw the cabin door was left wide open. Squinting against the morning sunlight, he spotted Marie, her body perfectly still and twisted into the shape of a human pretzel. He was about to make some smartass comment about being born in a barn when she smoothly shifted from a sitting position to lying down, suddenly arching her back with her arms tucked under her bottom, her eyes closed and a small peaceful smile on her face. His sarcastic jab died on his lips; she was breathtaking. He watched her silently; entranced by the control she had over her body.

She rolled onto her front and crouched on her hands and knees, arching her back again and Logan couldn't handle one more second of watching Marie twisting and stretching in the morning sunlight. He spent the last few years actively choosing to live as a man, not as a beast. Usually the Man found a lot of the animalistic urges of the Wolf to be debasing and primitive.

However, they were BOTH in agreement about how sexy Marie looked, covered in sweat, full breasts almost spilling out of her low-cut top. So he retreated, and hated himself for it. Eventually, she returned to the cabin. He heard her come in, but didn't turn around.

"Hey."

"Hey yourself." He still didn't turn around.

"You sleep all right?"

He grunted. "Actually…yeah. I closed my eyes and the next thing you know its morning."

She paused. "Sorry about last night. I can usually hold my liquor but ah…yeah."

He waved it off. "You feelin' okay enough for some breakfast?"

"Ugh. God no."

He grinned, crammed some saltines in his mouth and washed it down with a beer. "You looked like a pretzel out there."

"Ashtanga Yoga? It's a great workout, you should try it."

"That's not a workout," he scoffed. Marie bristled visibly.

"_You_ couldn't do it."

Their voices were rising in volume and attitude; neither one noticed. "With my hands tied behind my back," he boasted.

"Okay, tough guy. Let's see you do this." Without hesitation she stood on her hands. She lowered herself slowly, balancing her entire weight on bent forearms. With her torso perfectly still, she twisted her hips to the side with her legs completely outstretched, parallel to the ground but perpendicular to her upper body and hanging frozen in mid-air. The serene look of concentration on her face never changed. When she felt she proved her point she lowered herself slowly and stood.

"Come on, big mouth. Prove me wrong."

With a not-so-small amount of satisfaction she watched him set down his beer and try and copy her pose. He managed to level himself into a handstand but when he tried to lower himself to the full pose with his legs perpendicular to his torso his arms started to tremble. His brow furrowed and he grunted in exertion. After ten seconds he crashed to the ground.

"You try balancing three hundred pounds of metal skeleton," Logan grumbled, his pride mildly wounded.

"Just because there's no punching involved doesn't mean it's for pussies," Marie said smugly, handing him his beer. "It's not just about strength, it's about energy and focus. I think you should try it out. It might help you relax."

"I don't need to relax," he growled, and chugged the rest of his beer. Marie couldn't help but giggle at the surly, chastised expression on his face.

"Okay, I tell you what. Since you're so dead set on teaching me to fight, let's make a deal. I teach you Yoga for our warm-ups, and then you can teach me self-defense. Agreed?"

He arched a dark eyebrow. "You're not gonna make me chant or crap like that, are ya?"

She was the picture of innocence. "Not on our first session."


	6. In more ways than one

He took a deep breath, rolled his shoulders, and turned to Marie. "You ready, darlin'?"

She nodded. She had doubts about so much exposed skin; she wasn't 100 comfortable with touching yet, but as Logan pointed out: she had to start somewhere. As usual, in his abrasive way he was right.

"You remember the old routine?"

Again she nodded, preparing herself for his attack.

He was deliberately slow. He started with his fists; she knew he preferred to use his upper body and she blocked accordingly. His second punch was a little faster to her stomach, and his third to her shoulder. She blocked easily each time, but didn't move to attack right away. He swung again and she arched backwards, flipping gracefully and landing perfectly in a classic defense pose.

"Not bad," he said gruffly.

"Yoga," she quipped and tensed as he circled her. They sparred easily for about half an hour before he decided to up his attack and force her to grab him instead of just block him. It was obvious that she was hesitant about skin-on-skin touching; it was her biggest weakness.

It didn't go very well. Every time he managed to grab her, his hand tight on her bare wrist, she stiffened and lost her focus. Every time she had the opportunity to grab him and take the attack, she froze and lost the advantage. Logan could tell she was just getting more and more frustrated at herself.

"Go grab the knives, kid."

Marie relaxed from a defensive posture but didn't lower her guard. "Why?"

Logan grinned. "I wanna play a game."

* * *

Marie tested the easy weight of the green apple Logan had tossed her and cocked her head at him.

"You want me to WHAT?" she asked again, just to make sure she heard him right the first time.

"Throw it at me, kid. As hard as you can."

Marie shrugged. She held the apple like a baseball and rolled her wrist; she was still getting used to the way the leather knife sheaths on her forearms affected her movements.

He was grinning at her in that cocky, wolfish way that was damn annoying. Suddenly the idea of throwing something didn't sound so bad.

"Whatever you say," she muttered, and hauled her arm back. She whipped the apple at him as hard as she could; a little green blur heading for his head.

The familiar sound of metal sliding on metal; the claws were out in a heartbeat and the apple was neatly skewered on them. With a smug smile he took a bite out of it before pulling it off his claws and retracting them. He stood there munching on the apple, enjoying Marie's look of disbelief. Her eyes traveled from the fruit in his hand to the basket of apples at his feet.

"Oh no," she said.

"Oh _yes_."

Marie moaned. "You have got to be KIDDING me."

"Ready?"

"What?"

Logan bent, grabbed an apple off the top of the pile in the basket. "Set."

Her eyes widened. He wasn't kidding. Her right hand went for the knife sheathed on her left forearm; held the knife awkwardly as she tried to remove the other one without slicing herself.

"Go!" He lobbed the apple at her, not fast but not slow either. It hit her in the thigh.

"I'm not ready!" The blades were unfamiliar weights in her hands that she had almost no control over. And more apples were flying her way. She stabbed at the air with both hands; managed to nick a few of the apples but mainly managed to get hit a lot by the flying orbs. By the time the basket was empty she had more than a few bruises on her arms and legs.

"You didn't have to throw them so hard," she complained as she gathered a handful of the cursed apples in her cardigan. She vowed to get him back when it was her turn to teach Yoga.

Logan was smoking a cigar by the woodpile and watching her limp around the yard.

"What are you doing?"

Marie glanced at him over her shoulder. "I can't let all these apples go to waste," she drawled primly. "I'm making apple damper."

"We don't have a stove, darlin'."

"You don't need a stove for damper, sugar." She started for the cabin. "Scott taught it to me the last time we went camping."

"Scooter n' you went camping?" Logan tried to keep the note of jealousy out of his voice.

"Oh, there was a bunch of us; Kitty and Jubes and Piotr and Gambit and Hank...it was fun. We took the Blackbird to Mexico and camped out on a beach. Scott's cousin lives in Australia and taught him about damper and then Scott showed us."

Logan started to follow her into the cabin when Marie stopped suddenly; he bumped into her from behind. She turned and glanced up at him, offered an apologetic smile. "Can you make a campfire while I get this ready?"

He could lose himself way too easily in those sinful chocolate brown eyes staring hopefully up at him. It wasn't fair; he wanted to be her friend, he wanted her to be a kid again so he could have a valid excuse to not touch her like he was thinking about…

"Logan?"

Shit, she was talking to him. "Huh?"

"Campfire." She jutted her chin in the direction of the woodpile. "You. Go. Campfire. Build. Now. Ung-owa," she mock-grunted like a caveman. Marie grinned at him and turned into the house. Dumping the apples into the sink, she began to gather the ingredients: flour, a pinch of sugar, and beer. She wasn't much of a cook when it came to gourmet meals, but this was a piece of cake. Mix the flour & sugar together with water until it was mildly doughy, then add beer until it was pasty so it would rise…once she warmed the apples over the fire she would roll the dough into a ball, stuff some apples into the middle, then wrap the entire thing in foil and stick it in the hot coals…it was a warm, semi-sweet meal.

"Fire's goin'." Logan stood behind her with a raised eyebrow, watching Marie knead the dough. The eyebrow went even higher when he saw her pour a bottle of his beer into the mixture.

"I hope you know what you're doin'."

Marie tossed him a look over her shoulder; winked. "Trust me, sugar. Do me a favor and stick the apples over the fire for a minute or two to soften 'em up." She cocked her head at the apples, which had been rinsed of all dirt and germs. She smiled gratefully at him when he gathered them and headed outside, shaking his head and mumbling about wasting good beer.

When she peeked out the window over the kitchen sink, she saw him standing by the fire, the adamantium claws of his right hand released. The apples were skewered onto his claws and he was holding it casually over the fire while smoking a cigar and looking bored. The entire picture was so comical that Marie laughed out loud. Logan heard her and tilted his head in her direction. Chomped down on the cigar, raised his left hand, and extended his middle claw in a rude salute. It only made her laugh harder, until tears were streaming down her cheeks and she had to lean against the sink. It felt so good to laugh that she couldn't stop. She was still giggling when he came inside, sporting four very warm and softened apples.

"What the hell is so funny?" But her laughter was contagious; he was grinning good-naturedly.

Marie waved her hands at him, trying to catch her breath. She wheezed in between giggles, wiped the tears from her eyes. Logan rolled his eyes at her and set the apples on the miniature kitchen table. Out came the claws again; he sliced them neatly as she got a hold of herself.

"It's good to hear you laugh, kid," he said a little too carefully to be off-hand. It helped Marie sober up enough to talk.

"You just looked so…_silly_. You could rent yourself out at dinner parties as Wolverine, the human shish kebob."

"Ha ha, very funny."

"I'm sorry. But you really should have_ seen _yourself. It was better than when Bobby got a cold and sneezed icicles for a week. And _that_ was pretty damn funny."

Huh," he snorted, and left the sliced apples on the table. He watched with interest as she stuffed the apple slices into the center of the balls of dough, and then wrapped each ball in its own tinfoil casing. There were five silver packages in all; she handed him three and headed outside with the other two. With a stick she raked the red-hot coals of the campfire, nestled all five foil balls into the coals and covered them.

"Can't stick it directly in the flames. It's gotta be in the coals for it to rise without burning." She headed back into the cabin to wash her hands; he followed close behind. She busied herself with rinsing all the dough from beneath her fingernails.

"Want me to make something else?"

"Nah. Trust me; these things are filling." Marie wiped her hands on a dishtowel and finally looked at him, really looked at him. "You've got some black stuff on your shirt."

"You've got flour on your face," he countered.

"I do?" She touched her fingers to her cheeks. "Where?"

She tried to find the smudge without much success. Finally he leaned close and smoothed his thumb across her temple, wiping off the errant flour. At his touch she unconsciously stiffened, relaxing only when he leaned back to observe her critically.

"What?" Marie didn't like the way Logan was eyeing her, like he was assessing a specimen of cattle at an auction.

"Why do you do that?" he rasped.

"Do what?"

Logan sighed and deliberately leaned in close, less than an inch of space between them as he reached around her for another beer. Her eyes were wide, frozen on him. Again she stiffened when his skin brushed hers.

"T_hat_. You tensed up whenever I touched you today. It could get you killed, kid."

She shrugged, looking a trifle unhappy. "I guess I'm still not used to...you know. Touching." Letting him touch her was more like it.

"You're gonna have to get used to it, one way or another."

Marie scowled and poked him harder than necessary on the arm with her bare finger. "Touch touch touch. There. I touched you. Whoop-dee-doo."

"C'mon, kid, I'm being serious."

"So." _Poke_. "Am." _Another poke_. "I." _One last poke for good measure. _Quick as a snake, he grabbed her index finger in his big fist, squeezed it tight. Her scowl turned into a wince.

"Let me go."

He growled. "Are you gonna poke me again?"

"I'm not promising anything," Marie said mock-sweetly.

Logan sighed and released her finger. His promise that he would keep her safe and look after her was rattling around in his head like a handful of beans in a glass jar. Teaching her how to fight was a priority, but it wouldn't work if she froze every time she was faced with the idea of touching or being touched. She could play it off as a joke all she wanted; it still wouldn't help her assimilate the sensations of touch into her life.

"I'm going to check on the damper." She hightailed it back outside, away from the overwhelming feel and scent of him. He must've picked up on her wavelength; this time he didn't follow.


	7. Discovery

"Not bad, kid," he commented, finishing up the third damper. Logan rolled the blackened foil into a ball and tossed it across the room and into the trashcan. He pointed at the remains of the half-eaten piece in front of Marie. "You gonna finish that?"

Marie made a face and pushed it toward him. "God, no. I can't believe I tried to eat two of them. I can already feel it sticking to my thighs."

Logan snorted, shoved the rest of the damper in his mouth. His cheeks bulged.

"What was that snort about?" She had to wait thirty seconds for him to finish chewing the impromptu pastry.

He swallowed noisily. "Why do women always do that?"

"Do what?" Marie slouched back in the meager kitchen chair.

"Eat a great meal and then make some comment about their weight."

"Says Mr. Metabolism over there."

"Nah, I'm serious. You're too skinny. Women are different from men for a reason; they're _supposed_ to have curves."

She snickered and hooked her index finger over the neckline of her already low-cut camisole and pulled it down, exposing a good deal of skin. "What do you call these, angles?"

Whoa, was that a bad idea. Or good idea, depending on how one looked at it; the casual air that had lasted through dinner dissipated, leaving a thick tension between them as his hazel eyes zeroed in on her cleavage. Feeling like she had committed some sort of friendship _faux pas_, Marie re-adjusted her shirt and cleared her throat.

"I'll just clean up then." She grabbed the tinfoil that was scattered over the surface of the small table and stood, making a beeline for the trashcan and then to the kitchen sink. She switched subjects. "So, sensei, how did I do today?"

He ran his hand over his face, through his hair, and eyed her cautiously; he'd been giving this very subject some thought while the damper was cooking, and he thought he had come up with a solution. It was a very hands-on solution, which made him slightly nervous. Especially since his train of thought was pulling into a station that was decorated with posters of Marie looking very, very sexy.

Oh, fuck it, he decided. He'd just take a really really cold shower.

"I have an idea," he started. He moved to the dilapidated couch, sat down and patted the floor in front of him. "C'mere."

"What?" She looked incredibly doubtful, especially when he cracked his knuckles. It sounded like cracking walnuts.

"Well, your main weakness is your fear of being touched."

"Duh. So?"

"I'm gonna give you a backrub."

Her eyebrows shot up to her hairline. Logan's hands all over her bare skin? The thought excited and terrified her at the same time. "No thanks."

It was time to push her a little bit, wounded psyche or no. "Come on, Marie, what are you afraid of? A little touching?"

"I don't…I'm not…" Her mouth opened and closed as her brain tried to work out exactly why this was such a bad idea. It made her uncomfortable on many levels; in her mind a small part of her still held onto the belief that her skin was dangerous. She'd be the first to admit she was still skittish about being touched…that's why she was out here, right? To get used to the idea.

Then there was the thought of Logan being the person who was doing the touching. Hadn't she fantasized just this morning about how nice being able to touch might be, when it was with the right person?

And the right person was grinning at her, patting the space on the floor in front of him in encouragement.

"Come on. What are you, _chicken_?" He threw her own words back at her.

She groaned inwardly but allowed him to grab the hem of her tank top and tug her toward him. She sank to the floor between his spread thighs, her back to him. Nervous, she clasped her palms in her lap, holding herself rigid and away from leaning against his legs.

"Ya gotta relax, darlin'," he coaxed.

She'd almost been a mutant sacrifice on Liberty Island. She'd flown the Blackbird when she had no idea how to control it. She had faced a mob of angry humans out for the blood of mutants. Dr. Sinister captured her and her DNA was altered. She could handle this without losing her cool.

_Right?_

She scooted back, her spine flat against the base of the couch. She ignored the denim-clad thighs on either side of her body and stared forward. Focus on breathing; use the Ujayi breath to center her mind, release her anxieties, calm-

Her focus broke as he swept her hair away from her nape and placed his hands on her neck, kneading softly. She stiffened at the initial contact, her breath caught in her throat at the intimacy of the moment. His skin was work-roughened and it sent shivers down her spine. His fingers stroked her nape firmer now, his thumbs smoothing their way up her neck and into her hairline. Her head fell forward of its own volition, her body relaxing as it registered just how damn good it really felt.

It DID feel really good, and it made her incredibly nervous. Unable to help herself, Marie babbled.

"I never had a backrub before. Kitty and Jubes took me to a day spa once but I got too nervous about my skin, even with my bodystocking, and I ended up backing out and going for pizza while they had sea salt scrubs, or whatever you call it. That was awhile ago, though. It just never seemed like a good idea, you know-"

"Marie?" he asked.

"Yes?"

"Shut the fuck up," Logan growled amiably, his fingers digging into the knots in her shoulders.

She swallowed and shut up, focusing on becoming comfortable with the skin-on-skin contact. His fingernails were lightly scratching at her scalp, tugging on her hair, and before she could help it, she actually moaned.

Logan froze for a second. Jesus, did she always sound so sexy when she was relaxed? The importance of this moment, of his touch was not lost on him; this was the first time someone had touched her, really touched her, in years. He had started out with the noble intentions of a martyr: to help her get over her fear of skin-on skin contact. But this? This was torture; her skin was like those little silk scarves she used to wear; creamy and flawless beneath his rough hands. And those little noises she was making…he wanted to groan.

"See," he rasped instead, trying to ignore what his body wanted to do, "your skin's just skin. Once you get over that, get comfortable with it, you'll be able to defend yourself-"

"Logan?" she whispered.

"Yeah?"

"Shut the fuck up."

She was facing away from him but he could hear the smile in her voice.

He shut up.

Dusk was rapidly approaching. The light was growing dimmer and dimmer, and the only sounds around them were the chirp of crickets (they wouldn't be around much longer; the cold was setting in) and a little light moan from Marie whenever he hit a spot that felt really good.

Logan worked his way down her spine and then back up again, smoothing out the knots in her shoulder blades with his thumbs. After awhile she was completely relaxed, all tension drained, and there was really no reason to continue…but he didn't stop. Instead he ran his fingers through her hair for awhile, moving his massage from her shoulders to her arms, her hands, and back up to her scalp.

God, was she purring? Jesus Christ.

Her hair was as soft as her skin, even the streak of white. He kinda missed her long hair. The better to fall over him in a shower of burgundy and cream silk when she was on top-

Logan licked his lips. She was limp in his arms.

"Marie?"

No response.

"Marie? Darlin'?"

Her head fell to the side and she uttered a light snore. She was fast asleep.

This was the second time he had to carry her to bed. Unconsciously, she curled around him, drawn to his warmth like a plant is to the sun. He had to untangle himself from her as he lay her down, covering her with the faded quilt.

Logan stood at the foot of her bed. He was tempted to crawl under the blanket next to her. There was so much about Marie that was tempting: her smile, her warmth, those long legs and smooth skin…and most importantly, the way her energy lulled him into a good night's sleep. Yeah, he wanted that more than anything.

He wanted to help her.

He wanted to be helped by her.

He wanted to be next to her.

He wanted _her_.

He couldn't ignore it. He couldn't deny it. He did. He wanted to be with Marie, and for the first time, he didn't try to lock the thought away in some mental closet. He wanted her. It was a revelation of biblical porportions. If life were a movie, a light would be shining on him and there would be triumphant trumpets in the background.

Logan never twitched a muscle. He just continued to stare at her with his hands shoved deep in his pockets. He could have been watching two old men playing chess in Central Park, for all the animation that was on his face.

He wanted her. Needed her.

And Marie? What did she need?

A protector? A friend? A lover?

She deserved all that and more. She deserved a partner…a husband. Someone to worship her. Someone to be with her Always with a capital A.

As long as he could remember, he had never been an Always kinda guy.

Logan could also see past the desire to What Was Now and What Came Next. Now, Marie was confused. She was learning what it was like to be human.

And if they became lovers, what came next? He'd been on his own so long, and went through women like some people go through Kleenex. As he stared at her, her face serene in the moonlight, Logan just couldn't make himself believe that he was what was best for her.

Logan backed out of the small bedroom and shut the door tightly behind him.


	8. Innuendo

Logan grunted. His muscles trembled. Sweat rolled down his brow.

Marie was grinning.

"Still think Yoga is for wimps?"

He snorted a noncommittal response and mentally cursed. He wasn't going to be able to hold this position for long.

"Your balance is off."

She was next to him and then she was touching him, one hand on his thigh, lightly stretching his leg to the proper position, the other hand on the flat of his spine, leveling him out. His balance improved, but the thoughts that had been in his head since leaving her room last night continued to make him struggle.

"There," she said. "The Warrior number four pose."

He guessed he should feel like an ass. Here he was, in the middle of the forest, precariously balanced on one leg while the rest of him was trembling as he strived to keep his other leg, torso, and arms parallel with the ground. Thank God no one was around to see this. Scooter would never let him live this shit down.

His calf muscles locked up and Logan grunted again.

"Okay, straighten up slowly into the Sun Salutation. No, not like that, use your stomach muscles. Control it."

Down his leg went, sweet relief, and his back arched as he raised his arms over his head, copying the move she'd shown him earlier.

"Very good." She led him through another series of poses before wrapping up the session. "Now, at the end of each routine, we end with the Corpse pose. Move to the center of your blanket and lie down on your back, your legs slightly apart and your arms slightly away from your body."

He angled his blanket away from a patch of sunlight that had fallen on it and lay down. He couldn't believe how much his body ached. He felt like he'd just gone through five rounds with Sabretooth and come out the loser.

"Close your eyes. Relax your body, relax your mind. Release any tension starting with the tips of your toes, moving up your leg…your calves…use your power breathing like I taught you…moving up now, your thighs are relaxed…your shoulders…the tips of your fingers-"

He heard her pacing around him, heard her drop down beside him. Her hand closed around his wrist and lifted his arm.

"You're still tense. Relax your arm, Logan. Let it hang free."

This was a new thing for him. It wasn't easy...not at all. Yeah, he was a master of control. When hunting, his entire being was focused on the target. But there was always _action_ involved with his focus; hunting, driving, fucking...he'd never tried focusing while doing nothing whatsoever. He tried again to relax.

She shook his wrist again, this time it was limp in her grasp. She lowered his arm to the ground. Standing, she walked to her own blanket.

"Continue moving up, releasing all tension, past your jaw, your ears, your eyebrows, all the way to the ends of your hair. Continue your breathing. Give yourself a few minutes, stay in this position, concentrate on being completely relaxed." She fell silent and lay down, going through the release of the Corpse pose in silence.

When she came back to herself, she felt his presence nearby before even opening her eyes. She turned her head in the direction she thought he was in and squinted in the morning light. Sure enough, he was leaning against the tree closest to her, chewing on a twig and gazing at the morning clouds.

Marie sat up and patted the blanket in a silent invitation.

Waiting, giving himself time to make it his own idea, he finally pushed himself off the tree and sat next to her. Well, 'sat' in the loosest terms; he sprawled across the blanket, crossing one long leg over the other and leaning back on his elbows. He was in dark sweatpants and a white undershirt and his feet were bare.

"What did you think of your first yoga lesson?" She was curious.

"Not bad," he admitted grudgingly. "It's not as easy as it looks."

"How does your back feel?"

That got him grinning. "_Really_ not bad."

"You should stretch more before you start your little escapades in the Danger Room. Just 'cause you regenerate doesn't mean you shouldn't treat your body right beforehand."

Logan looked over at her. She was leaning back on her hands, legs in a lotus position, her face turned away as she gazed at a flower in a nearby bush. She was sweaty, in her dull gray workout scrubs, and still she was absolutely stunning.

Marie spoke, interrupting his thoughts. "Sorry for conking out on you last night."

"It's ok," Logan shrugged, "I didn't mind." He glanced at Marie. "My idea worked then?"

"I guess."

He guessed too; she'd had no problem with little touches this morning; moving his elbow higher for the Sun Salutation, straightening his neck for the Downward Dog pose. They lounged in companionable silence for a while, content to sit in the morning sunshine.

"Logan?"

"Yeah?"

She didn't look at him. Hadn't even known she had wanted to ask him this until it came out of her mouth. "Can I ask you something super personal?"

His chin tucked in toward the ground and his brows furrowed. He shrugged and nodded.

"Before you escaped from Stryker...the first time...what was it like? What was the worst part?"

He took a deep breath. It was something he didn't like to talk about. With _anyone_. Of course, Marie wasn't everyone. She'd been through something very similar to what he'd experienced. Being the non-consentual subject of genetic experiments wasn't something that happened to everyone on the block. He'd been expecting something like this but knowing it was coming and actually discussing it were two different things.

"The pain." He paused. "It never stopped. I could..."

It had been over ten years since he escaped. Nightmares plagued him, the need for answers drove him on a decade long quest, and yet this was the first time he had talked about it, _really_ talked about not just what happened but how he felt. He had to wait a moment for the lump in his throat to dissolve.

"...I could see them watching me. Making notations. Hovering. Watching me scream..." A shudder ran through him. The light, relaxed feeling from Yoga was gone and he was suddenly aware of how heavy his body felt. Three hundred pounds of adamantium-laced heavy. "I tried to kill myself. But every time I slashed my wrists, every time I cut my throat, I would heal." Logan sighed. "I just wanted to die."

Marie reached over and squeezed his hand. When he glanced at her there were tears in her eyes. She was nodding in sympathy and he wasn't annoyed at her womanly reaction like he'd normally be if it were some trailer trash and not Marie. He was inside her head, she'd seen exactly what had happened. Not just scenes as if from a movie, like Jean saw, but the entire memory in one solid chunk. Why had they never talked about this before?

Marie was crying now.

"Listen darlin', we don't have to talk about this-"

"No," she insisted, sliding her hand out from under his to wipe at her cheeks. "We do. It's just hard...I had you in my head for such a long time...I saw what you went through, I had nightmares for weeks. But I never really knew...how awful it had been for you...until I...I..."

Her throat closed up for a second. She turned her mind away from the hurt, and distanced herself from the memories until she was calm again. "The worst part for _me_ was waiting to die. I didn't want to die...but I couldn't imagine there being so much pain while _living_."

He wasn't sure he could hear this, but he knew she needed to tell him. "What did they do?"

Marie chuckled, but it was sad. "It was another machine. Not like Magneto's, but it reminded me of it. It was like...being caught in the middle of a lightning bolt while someone tap danced on my DNA. Dr. Sinister...he told me beforehand what he was going to do. That I was nothing more than a lab rat. Mystique even made a joke about it, told me they were doing me a favor. Like my mutation was something I'd rather be without."

She grinned at him.

"This isn't funny."

Her grin grew slightly wider. "You know what I kept thinking about the entire time it was happening?"

"What?"

"You."

He swallowed. "Me?"

"Yeah. You. If you could survive...then so could I."

Marie seemed to have said her piece, and there was silence again.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there."

"You can't be there all the time."

"I promised I would take care of you. I _promised_."

She shook her head at him. "You promised a fifteen year old girl who had no family and no friends that you'd watch out for her. That was almost seven years ago. I'm not that kid anymore, I don't need you there to watch out for me all the time." She patted his hand and smiled sadly. "Anyway...I didn't want to talk to anyone on the team about...you know...cause they...they _wouldn't_ know. So thanks."

"No problem." He felt a _moment_ coming on, a pause in the conversation that he would find himself filling with words that he wasn't sure either of them wanted to hear right now. Luckily, she stood and stretched.

"What do you want to do now?"

He wanted to kiss her.

"Go get your knives."

Marie groaned. "You're not gonna throw more apples are you?"

* * *

He didn't throw apples. But three hours, two shallow cuts, and a barrelful of bruises later, she was ready to scream.

It sounded like a good idea, so she did scream. Right in his ear, as he closed in for an attack. It bought her five seconds of surprise, which gave Marie enough time to grab a fistful of his shirt, hook her leg around his and push. HARD.

He fell down, and she was on top of him, her knees on either side of his hips, more than slightlysurprised that her ployworked.

He was surprised too. This was only a training excercise, but Logan always approached each session like he would a real fight. No sense in doing anything half-assed, right? So he should have just lifted her off of him- it's not like she weighed that much-

But he hesitated.

He _fucking_ hesitated.

It was just the sight of her, above him, panting and flushed and grinning at herself for actually pinning him, her hair hanging loose and free and framing her face in chestnut and snow white waves-

He remembered the moment in the tent, Mystique/Marie hoveringover him with a knowing smile on her face, and the resulting shame for wanting an eighteen year-old girl...the guilt for not being there to save her when she needed him the most-

"Logan?" Her dark eyebrows knit together in confused worry. Marie knew he never lowered his defenses; not during a fight. His eyes were focused on something over her shoulder.

She was straddling him, he could almost feel the heat of her through his sweats. It would be so easy to flip her, cover her, cut a hole in her sweats while pushing his down at the same time-

_NO! This was MARIE!_

He bared his teeth and growled, a deep rumble in his chest that tickled its way out his throat.

A wary look crossed her face. Marie had heard that sound before and slowly rolled back on her feet, moving away calmlybut not running- God no, running would only provoke him into chasing -her hands deliberately kept in the open within his sight.

"Logan?" She tried to keep the fear from her voice but it was hard. He may have been AWOL for a few years, but she'd heard that sound before and she knew it meant trouble. LOTS of it. It was the sound of the Wolverine struggling to be freed. "Come on, sugar, you're scaring me. Logan, say something."

He sat up, his fingernails digging into the ground so hard it hurt. He looked up at her from beneath furrowed brows.

"_Something_," he growled. It was all he could manage. She looked calm but he could smell her fear and it was stimulating him in all the wrong ways. His desire for her opened the Wolverine's cage, and the mixture of arousal and fear in her scent was luring the animal out in the open. Logan had to control it before it slipped completely out of his grasp. If that happened he'd fuck her or kill her...he wasn't really sure which.

"Are you all right?"

He laughed and it was harsh. "Fine, kid."

"Do you-"

"I said I'm FINE," he barked. The muzzle was on the Wolverine and he was regaining control. "Lesson's over for today."

"I guess so," she whispered. "I'm gonna...go for a walk...I'll see you around dinnertime."

She walked backwards, not turning her back on him until she was around the cabin and out of sight. She wasn't lying; she really was going to go for a walk. The abrupt shift in his moods scared her and she wanted time alone.

She kept the knife sheaths on.

* * *

She walked all the way to the lake, her muscles sore from being locked into defensive mode for the last hour and a half. Marie had no idea what had set Logan off- maybe sharing about the experiments was too much for him- but she couldn't guarantee that he wouldn't follow her...wouldn't try to overprotect her. Shit even..._hunt_ her. It felt like such a wrong thing to think...but then she remembered the animal quality of his growl, the wild light in his eyes, and she'd get paranoid again. So every now and then she'd stop and listen, her fingers twitching toward the blades that lay along her skin. She never thought she'd be reassured by their presence; she'd been _wrong. _

There'd been no noise, no sense of being watched. He was leaving her alone, and for the first time in a long time, she was glad he wasn't coming after her.

Marie toed off her shoes and hooked her socks off. Rolling her pant legs up to her knees, she sat on the dock and dangled her toes in the cool water.

What _had_ set him off? She'd seen him caught off guard in the Danger Room before, and he'd never reacted like _that_. In fact, the only times he ever let the Wolverine loose was when he was enraged...or afraid.

_Afraid._

Some of his memories resided in her head. She knew how he'd panicked when he first woke up at the mansion. Saw it as if she had been there. The reaction to the needle then and his reaction to her on top of him had been nearly one and the same. Only _this_ time he managed to control himself.

What was he afraid of?

Was he afraid of her?

Was he afraid _for_ her?

_Why?_

The most likely explanation would be that he was afraid she couldn't defend herself. His big-brother position in her life had been threatened when he hadn't been around to protect her, and he was feeling (rather stupidly, in her opinion) that he had failed her. That was the excuse he'd come charging back into her life with: that he wanted to support her and protect her while she recovered from the experiments. But she'd successfully managed to pin him, gain the upper hand in a fight. That usually deserved a grin and a hug instead of a growl.

So what about her suddenlypresented a threat?

It wasn't a rhetorical question. She needed to know the answer, but every time she tried to center on a possibility, the idea would skate around and slip through her fingers. It was damned frustrating.

Marie wiggled her toes in the water. The temperature had been getting colder every day. The lake was cool but it wasn't freezing.

She removed the arm sheaths and stood. Slowly, methodically, she pulled her shirt over her head. It was followed by her sweatpants. She debated about her bra and panties and decided to keep them dry as well. First the bra; she shivered as it slid down her arms, and her breasts immediately peaked in the light breeze. She pushed her panties off her hips and down her legs and kicked them to the side.

Before the experiments, before her skin was normal, she sometimes liked to sneak down to the Olympic-sized pool in the mansion and skinny dip. It was always empty at two in the morning, and it was one of the only times she could be comfortable in her mutation. It was always relaxing, and right now she really needed to relax.

Marie dove off the pier.

She surfaced, gasping and laughing at the cold shock of the water. Oh, but it felt so good on her bare skin.

She swam lazily, never straying too far from the shore, while her mind kept petting the question of why, why..._why_?

He hadn't come back for Jean and Scott's wedding. She'd seen the invitation; hell she helped stuff the envelopes. He hadn't come back when the Professor had suffered a mild heart attack. He had deliberately stayed away from the X-Men for years, only to come running back when she was hurting most.

_He came back for her._

What did that mean? Was she his permanent ward? Was his reputation threatened when he failed to protect her? He cared for her; that was obvious.

Just how _much_ did he care?

Slowly, Marie stopped her strokes and instead floated in place, her ears filled with the muted song of the lake, her face turned up to the clouds drifting by overhead.

She could lie to him and to the X-Men but she couldn't lie to herself. When she pinned him it had felt good in more ways than one. Sure, actually toppling him was a notch to her ego, but feeling him between her thighs was a huge accomplishment for her libido. She _liked_ being on top.

_What if he'd liked it too?_

Marie gasped.

* * *

The swim did more than clear her thoughts. She was aware of every single action and look he threw her way. Or lackthereof; he'd avoided her most of the day, coming back to the cabin only now, only at night, and looking like he'd rolled around in a mudpile.

"You look like hell."

He didn't turn around at her contrary compliment. She didn't relent.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." He paused. "Sorry bout this morning."

She tried to circle around to see his face, he deliberately turned away. She frowned. "Don't worry about it." Logan was acting closed, sullen. She wanted him grinning and playful so she could test out her theory. That Logan was a lot easier to potentially flirt with. One more try-

"Want me to make dinner?"

"Already ate."

Strike three. Marie shrugged and retreated to her closet/bedroom to change out of her sweatsuit. It was getting late, and they probably weren't going to be going outside again. Which left the two of them, alone and moody, together in the cabin. Great. She contemplated the silky nightgown Jubilee and Kitty had smuggled into the pile of clothes Logan gathered, and discarded the idea quickly: too obvious. Low cut jeans and a tube top? Too immature.

She scowled. She wasn't cut out to be a seductress. Yesterday she could barely stand being touched. The scowl turned into a sigh; it was a stupid idea anyway. She snatched a pair of dark blue pajama pants and a tank top and headed for the shower. He was fiddling with something in the sink and didn't turn around as she crossed the room. She paused in the doorway.

"Can you build a fire?" she asked.

He didn't respond. She sighed and shut herself in the bathroom.

Slightly miffed, she rinsed the lake-water out of her hair with the taps turned to scalding. Typical. It was so _typical_ of him to reside in her head like a smug parasite. Maybe her idea was stupid; even if she was right, even if he did want her as much as she wanted him, then what? She couldn't see him settling down to life in the mansion, and she couldn't see herself deserting the X-Men for a life on the road.

Were there other options? Was her heart strong enough to survive a fling?

_Was she even right in the first place?_

Marie stepped out of the shower and toweled herself off more briskly than usual.

She was no longer a mutant. That fact was becoming easier to live with every day. She could touch. She could be touched. It was only a matter of time before the urges to move on with her life started; the desire to find a man, start a family. In her heart of hearts she was still a Southern belle and she had their natural born instinct to live in a large house with drooping willow trees, sitting on a front porch fanning herself while watching her children romp in the yard. It was a secret dream of hers that until a month ago, could be nothing more than a fantasy.

She'd eventually want these things. She'd eventually find a man, whether it was Remy or Bobby or someone else.

Marie stared at herself in the mirror. Her resolve hardened.

Even if he couldn't be the one to share her dream of a home and children, she wanted Logan to be her first.

* * *

Even if he was brooding, he started a fire that warmed the cabin.

He was sitting on a log outside watching the sunset and smoking a cigar as she fixed herself dinner. By the time he came back inside it was fully dark and she was curled up on the sofa reading more of Red Dragon and drinking a beer. He raised an eyebrow at the sight of the filched bottle but didn't say anything. He wound up sitting in the battered armchair opposite her, reading some Tom Clancy book.

"Why so moody?" she said without glancing up from her book.

He grunted. "I'm not moody."

"Liar." She turned a page. "Wanna talk about it?"

"No."

She shrugged and wiggled further into the couch cushions. "Suit yourself." She took a swig of her beer and read three more pages before adding, "but you're being an ass."

Logan mock-growled at her. "Am not."

"Are too."

"Just let it drop, kid."

She put her book down and rolled on her side, facing him. "I'm not the one that got pissy after he got knocked down."

"It's not that, okay?"

"Then what?"

He scowled and buried his nose in the book so far he wouldn't be able to read the pages without going permanently cross-eyed.

Marie rolled her eyes and picked her book back up, opened it back to where the killer was primping before his next attack. "See? Liar. So you got knocked down by a girl. So what?"

"_Marie_-"

She ignored him. "I know what's bothering you. I tell you what: next time, _you_ can be on top." What a perfect innuendo...

She maintained an innocent face as he threw the book down and grabbed the sleeping bag from the corner before storming outside. He slammed the front door shut with so much force that that cabin shook.

Marie grinned and took another sip of beer.

Bingo.


	9. Crossing the Line

It was almost four a.m. He'd given up on pretending to sleep an hour ago, and instead stared up at the stars from the warm cocoon of his sleeping bag. It was cold outside. But it wasn't the cold or the hard ground or the wind in the trees that kept him awake. It was Marie. Every time Logan closed his eyes, he saw her smiling and beckoning and in the safe confines of his mind, _he went to her_.

It excited and terrified him.

He wanted to believe he could be with her. And not just in the casual sex role that most women in his life were delegated to. He could get used to rolling over in bed and finding her there. He could get used to sleeping like a normal person, without nightmares that left a scream in his throat. She did that for him.

But what did he do for her? How could he possibly do anything for her? He was a drifter, a womanizer, a shadow, an animal. She might be the best thing he could hope for but she also deserved someone better than him.

He came back to try and help a friend who was lost. It seemed like he was the one who was lost.

He couldn't think straight tonight; not with her pouting looks and smartass innuendos. Not with the Wolverine so close to the surface, and not while his balance was so precarious. He needed to strengthen his resolve. He needed to finish her training so he could leave. He needed to-

"Logan?"

Logan jerked awake. It was light out; at some point he _had_ fallen asleep. He was wrapped in something constrictive that held down his arms and his legs. Still trapped in the boundaries of dreams, he panicked. He released his claws and sliced through the sleeping bag.

Marie was above him, but at a respectable distance. "Logan, sugar, it was just a dream, and you're okay. You're okay."

Slowly the wild look faded from his eyes and his heart rate slowed. When he realized what he'd done, he retracted his claws and slowly climbed from the ruined bag.

"Another nightmare?" she asked, sympathy in her voice.

Marie beneath him, naked and moaning. Yeah. A real nightmare. He grunted and stood slowly. He glanced at Marie; she was still keeping her distance. Good girl. _Smart_ girl. "What time is it?" he rasped.

"Around eight. Listen, ah...I'm gonna go for a run through the woods. When I come back...yoga?"

"Sure."

"Okay."

Marie was looking at him strangely, like she was assessing him. He didn't like it, but before he could say something she took off.

* * *

Their silence had thickened into anticipatory tension, and Yoga, for once, did absolutely nothing to relax her. Hell, thanks to her hormones and the way he was treating her, which bordered on resentment, she was more wound up _after_ Yoga than she was _before_ it. Plus last night she had lain awake in bed until almost dawn. She was tired, she was hot, and every inch of her skin tingled with angry electricity. Marie wanted to scream.

Their sparring session was a welcome relief; the weight of the knives on her forearms spoke to her agitation until she was ready to kick his ass for putting her in such a position. _He_ was the man, dammit. It was his job to be the dominant one. But if he wouldn't...she would. Whether she was right or wrong didn't matter; it was the principle of the thing.

She had to keep telling herself that, or else she would lose her nerve.

Logan rolled his neck, his vertebrae popping with a disconcerting sound. "You ready, kid?"

She hated the way he was grinning at her, like he wasn't afraid of her. She snarled. "_Don't_ call me _kid_."

Without any warning or preamble, she attacked. Pivoting on one heel, she snapped the other foot up in a roundhouse kick. Logan was fast but he wasn't _that _fast; she caught the side of his jaw. As he stumbled back, she twisted into her defense pose. He whirled, his brows raised and his mouth snarling. It was her turn to grin.

Logan rubbed the side of his jaw, regarding her with a rival's eyes. "Is that how we're playing it?"

Marie smiled coldly at him. "I can take anything you give me, _sugar_."

There were no easy punches this time. He advanced with a volley of vicious hits that she did her best to twist away from. He looked mildly surprised at her success, but then he _would_ be surprised. When they sparred, she'd been focusing on learning his new moves. He'd never seen her in action, as a member of the X-Men. She wasn't completely incapable. Still, he managed to get a few hits in; one to her ribcage that made her gasp and before she could block his second punch, he backhanded her across the cheek so hard that she swayed on her feet, stars dancing across her vision.

Logan eased out of his defensive stance. "You finished?"

Marie sighed. "Yeah, I guess you're right-" But even as she spoke she leapt at him, catching him dead in the chest with both feet, knocking him flat on his back. The second she dropped to the ground she rolled. She arched her back, kicked her legs, and flipped into a low crouch. She watched him warily as he sat up, a cloud of dust settling around him. He looked pissed. That was good; she was too.

He pawed himself up and regarded her like a wolf measuring its prey. "You can't handle me."

"Don't tell me what I can't handle," she seethed, and came at him. The blood pounded in her ears, the thrill of the fight electrified her arms and legs as she went on the offensive. A kick to his abdomen that doubled him over, then she dropped to the ground and swept her leg across his, knocking him completely down.

He cursed. "_Cut it out_-"

"Stop being such a _chickenshit _and_ fight_ me!" she yelled at him.

He snarled and this time when he jumped up, he went on the attack. Fear punched through her at his speed and power, but Marie was ready. Every time she successfully blocked one of his moves, he only got more enraged. It made him sloppy, and she managed a few more hits.

Everything was happening so fast; they were on autopilot. He was behind her; she slipped through his arms and kicked him from beneath. Growling, he grabbed both her forearms and was twisting her down. She leaned into him and snapped her foot up from behind, years of yoga making her flexible enough to kick him over her shoulder. He went down, but not before he managed to drive his elbow into the side of their head. She fell with him. The second they hit the dirt they were up again, only this time their blades were unsheathed.

Marie, panting, clenched and unclenched the handles of her knives; the knives _he_ had taught her how to use. Her eyes were fixated on his extended claws. He raised his hands to his eyes, almost as if he couldn't believe he had sprung them on her.

She flipped a knife in her hand, spun it around in her palm, and grinned. She was showing off.

Logan growled. "You don't want this, kid."

"You _know_ what I want," she taunted. He snarled and she grinned; she liked to see him lose it over her. This time when they met, sparks flew.

Almost a decade of unrequited love, uncomfortable silences and sexual tension came together to fuel the rage behind their fight. Instead of words and murmurs, they hissed and grunted at each other as they swung and ducked and blocked. If they wouldn't fuck each other, fine. They'd kick the shit out of each other instead. There was no room in her mind to be afraid of his claws, no time to worry what would happen if he cut her too deep- he couldn't heal her if things got out of hand _(they were way out of hand already) _-there was only the scuffle of their sneakers on the packed dirt, and the occasional low grunt. He leaned back too far and lost his balance; she took advantage of it and swiped at him. A thin red line appeared across his abdomen. It disappeared just as quickly.

She hadn't fought, _really fought_, since she was rescued. It felt good. Really good. Now, she was fighting _everyone_. She was fighting Dr. Sinister, and the helplessness she felt as his victim. She was fighting the Brotherhood. She was fighting her parents who abandoned her. She was fighting Mystique. She was fighting her skin. She was fighting Logan, the man who she'd taught herself not to love, because loving him hurt too damn much.

It was too much-

Overwhelmed with rage, Marie screamed, and stabbed down with one knife. This one Logan saw coming, and knocked the blade from her grip with a merciless swipe of his arm. That was fine, she had another blade.

She may have been a seasoned member of the X-Men, but she was also human now, and fighting against someone with regenerative powers. She was winded, and it wasn't long before he grabbed her wrist and twisted.

"Drop it," he growled.

She stubbornly held onto her one remaining knife. He snarled and twisted her arm again with enough force to make her cry out and drop the knife. Her other arm was free; she brought up her elbow in a sharp blow and clipped his chin with enough force to make his head snap back. Now he was _really_ snarling. She _should_ be afraid of that sound, _should_ have known to stop but she didn't care. Her arms were in his grasp but her legs were free. She tried to knee him in the balls and missed, and that was how she found herself in a bear hug, both her arms locked to her sides by his steel grip, her entire body pressed against his so hard she couldn't move. Or breathe, which is why she had to finally drop her head against his chest, close to sobbing. It wasn't _fair_.

"Say 'uncle'."

She shook her head, her cheek sliding across his sweaty chest. His heart was pounding like a jackhammer. "Uh-uh."

"You lost," he rasped in her ear, his breath hot against her skin. "There's nothing left." She felt his arms flex around her; a cage of muscles and adamantium.

He was too arrogant There was one part of her body she could still move, one more card she could play. Her heart sped up until she was in hyper drive.

"You're wrong," she whispered. She raised her head, pinning him with her determination. "There's this."

She tilted her face up to his and kissed him.

Marie didn't have much experience when it came to kissing, but she poured her entire being into this one. _She wanted this_. She'd wanted this for too long to be shy. He froze; she could feel his entire body go rigid as she opened her mouth against his. She tasted the salt on his skin, and was glad that he was holding her up because she wasn't sure her legs would hold her anymore. Her tongue slid against his lower lip and then against his tongue and it was so sweet and so perfect that she couldn't help the small moan of pleasure that rose from her throat.

At that quiet whimper, Logan snapped, taking control of the kiss. His hold on her turned into an embrace as he tasted her mouth, his kiss frantic and fierce, leaving the both of them gasping for air before biting and licking and kissing again. She was whimpering and he was groaning and it was the hottest thing that had ever happened to her.

Her fantasies were all jack shit when measured up against the real thing, which is why what she had to do next was going to kill her.

When his arms dropped from restraining her to pull at her tank top she slid her hands up his chest, grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, hooked her leg behind his, kissed him one last time...

...and _shoved_ him as hard as she could.

Logan toppled like a felled tree.

Before the dust could settle she swept up her discarded knife and was on top of him, one knee braced against his chest, the blade held firmly against his throat.

She could see his desire quickly dissolving into shock and then fury. He tried to sit up, and Marie pressed the knife deeper into his skin.

"Uh-uh, big guy," she said coldly, licking her lips. She could still taste him. "You know what I want to hear."

He froze, his nostrils flaring and his face distorted by rage.

She bent closer to him. "Say 'uncle'," she whispered.

She was prepared for his anger, was even prepared to get the cold shoulder from him a few days.

She wasn't prepared for him to press into the blade, not caring about the blade that cut into him, about the blood that was spilling down his front. It surprised her enough that when he bucked under her, Marie lost her balance. They rolled in the dirt, grappling for the knife with his blood and her harsh gasps, their struggle finally ending when he ripped the knife from her hand, snapped the blade in half with his bare hands, and tossed it aside.

Marie was flat on the ground, and he was above her, panting and bloody. She'd seen him face more than a handful of vicious enemies; Magneto, Mystique, Stryker, the Brotherhood...but she'd never seen him more berserk than he was...at her...right now.

She spat a mouthful of dirt out. "Well, you got what you wanted." She raised her eyes to his. "You're on top."

Provoked beyond his limit, Logan roared. Marie heard the familiar sound of metal on metal and all she could see was a blur of Logan and steel as his fists arched downward, toward her face. Marie closed her eyes and screamed.


	10. Home Again Home Again

No birds sang, no wind blew, no branches rustled; the entire world stopped to listen in the aftermath of Marie's scream.

The first thing she realized was that she wasn't dead. Trying not to move, trying not even to _breathe_, Marie opened her eyes. Logan's fist was less than two inches away, his claws embedded in the dirt. Her eyes widened. She turned her head; there was his other hand, just as close. She came within three inches of being a Marie shish-kebab.

Her cheek pressed against the dirt, her eyes darted to Logan. He was red-faced and panting, visibly struggling to cage the Wolverine. She gulped and her gaze focused once again on the adamantium claw right in front of her nose.

She pushed him too far.

There was nothing she could say, there was nothing she could do; she couldn't move until he did. She lay silently beneath him, waiting for him to regain control.

Without warning he jerked his claws from the ground and sheathed them, but he didn't move. She turned her head to him. He was so close she could kiss him again, but she didn't dare.

"Lo...Logan?" she whispered.

His answer was halfway between a sigh and a grunt. "Why?"

"Why?"

"Why."

She wiggled uncomfortably. He was really heavy. "Tactical maneuver." She licked her lips, which were bone dry. "It worked."

He gave a bitter bark of laughter. "That...that can't ever happen again." He finally climbed off her. He didn't offer her a hand up.

She gathered herself together. "What can't?" She stood and brushed at her dirty pants.

He swept his hand across the entire fighting field. "That. All of that."

She swallowed, her nerves finally catching back up to her after she got knocked on her ass. "I was enjoying myself right at the end there." She cocked her head. "Well...mostly," she conceded.

"No!" he protested, pacing around her, unable to meet her eyes. He was sweaty and his hair and eyes were wild but he was still the most gorgeous man she had ever seen. "You can't...we can't..."

She knew what he meant. Her response was quiet. "Why not?"

Years ago, when they first met, she had been too young to know how to unpin her heart from her sleeve when it came to all things Logan. She knew and she suspected correctly that _he_ knew, but since she never made a move it was a fact that she could live with and one he could easily ignore. But here it was; she has just laid all her cards out on the table with two little words.

Logan had frozen in mid-pace. He turned slowly, and she could see the surprise in his stare. Understandable; it was the first time she'd been so blunt and to the point about her feelings for him. Logan recovered slowly.

"Because."

"Because why? We're two consenting adults."

"You're not-" he started but she cut him off.

"I _am_ an adult. I have been for a long time."

"I'm too old for you."

"You don't even know how old you are," Marie reasoned.

He shook his head and began pacing again. "We're friends."

She felt like the eye of a storm as he circled her; calm and serene against his chaos. "Friendships change."

He growled. "Mine don't." He shook his head again, the back and forth action seeming to cement his decision. "I can't lose you as a friend. I can't."

"We can be friends _and_ more than friends. You won't lose me."

"_Bullshit_!" he spat. "Kid, I fuck _women_. I don't fuck _friends_."

Now she was getting pissed off again. She planted her hands on her hips. "You're not being fair."

"This isn't about fair."

"Tell me you didn't enjoy that."

She meant the kiss. She could see in his eyes that he was thinking about the fight.

"I can't," he rasped.

Logan disappeared into the bushes.

* * *

Marie stormed back to the cabin, her anger and frustration swirling around her like a dense cloud. The adrenaline was starting to wear off and from the pounding soreness in her ribs and the side of her face; she knew she wasn't going to like looking in the mirror. Her left eye was starting to swell shut. She touched her right cheek and winced; the skin there was scraped raw. She lowered her fingers and sighed. Well, at least there wasn't any blood.

God, she could still taste him on her lips, feel his mouth on hers.

When she got to the cabin she bypassed the bathroom, heading straight for the bedroom where she changed into jeans and a clean tank top. She then proceeded to stuff her belongings into the duffel sack Logan had brought for her.

As she stuffed, she calmed herself enough to make a mental phone call.

_PROFESSOR_ she thought, as loudly as she could_. PROFESSOR XAVIER_

She was grabbing for a handful of socks when she felt him in her head.

_Rogue. You called? _He retained his cool, crisp British accent even when in her head.

She snorted and stalked to the bathroom for her toothbrush and toothpaste. _I need you to send Scott out with the jeep to come get me _She shoved the toiletries into the duffel. Perversely, she left a pair of violet lace panties on the bed in plain sight. It was the only thing of hers Logan was going to find when he got back. She yanked the drawstring shut.

_...are you all right? _the Professor asked.

She felt like she'd gone through ten rounds with Mike Tyson and lost. She just had her first real kiss and in the process, and probably lost her closest friend. She was so fucking far from all right it wasn't even funny. Gritting her teeth, she hoisted the heavy bag over her shoulder.

_Just tell him I'll meet him halfway_ she thought, and hung up the mental phone. She was alone in her head again.

Marie walked out of the cabin, and slammed the door behind her.

* * *

She double-timed it through the forest until she hit the dirt road that led through the back of the Professor's property. She strode down the center of the road, duffel slung over her back, refusing to be upset about anything that had happened until she was locked in her bathroom, immersed in the biggest bubble bath ever made.

She heard the jeep before she saw it. She let the bag drop and waited.

Scott pulled up, his face a careful study in neutrality. When he saw her, one eyebrow arched over his ruby-quartz sunglasses.

"Don't say a damn word," she grumbled. She tossed her bag in the backseat and climbed up next to him. "Just take me home."

Scott was an efficient and intuitive team leader; he knew when to shut up. He kept his mouth closed until they pulled into the multi-car garage. "The Professor told me he wants to see you in his office," Scott said. "Do you want me to take your stuff to your room?"

"Sure." She really wanted to sequester herself alone for awhile but she couldn't avoid Xavier forever. She took a moment in the downstairs bathroom to freshen up.

"Holy _shit_!" The expletive was out before she could help herself. Yeah, she knew she probably looked a little ragged but this was worse than she expected. She looked like she'd been _mugged_; the skin around her left eye was the color of a ripe plum tinged with a few spots of an ugly greenish yellow. Her right cheek looked like someone had taken a cheese grater to it, she had a split lip, and her hair was a mess.

She wet a towel and gingerly wiped off the dried blood at her mouth. There was absolutely nothing she could do about the black eye or her cheek except let her hair hang over the left side of her face. She couldn't pretend that people wouldn't notice; they would. And they would assume Logan did it, and that was why she came running back to the mansion. _Come on_, she told her reflection silently, _you look like hell, and it's not going to get better than that until you get some heavy-duty concealer._ _So suck it up_.

Marie steeled herself for a lecture and knocked on the door to the Professor's office.

"Come in."

Casually, as if she hadn't disappeared for a few days, as if she hadn't closed the entire team out for the prior month, Marie sauntered in. "You wanted to see me?" She sat in the leather chair opposite the Professor. Like Scott, he merely raised an eyebrow at the sight of her.

"Yes, I did, Rogue. I have a few things I wanted to discuss with you."

Marie nodded politely. It was actually odd being called Rogue again. She noticed his gaze wasn't leaving her skinned cheek, her swollen eye, and she sighed. "You should see the other guy," she quipped.

"Logan?"

"Our training exercise got a little…rambunctious."

Xavier waited for her to elaborate and when she stubbornly kept quiet, he sighed. "Very well. I have taken the liberty of assigning you a room in the east wing. No roommates; I thought you would like some privacy."

"I appreciate that." She really did; Kitty and Jubilee were wonderful but sometimes it seemed like their lifeblood was drama and gossip. "Thanks."

Xavier rested his arms on the desk, tented his fingers, and his expression turned from compassionate to shrewd. "I also wanted to take a moment to talk to you about the X-Men."

She tried not to stiffen and failed. "Yes?"

"You are still a member of the team, Rogue. Recent events have not changed that."

"I know."

"You are under no pressure, but I know Scott and the team would be happy to see you at the training sessions and team meetings. Whenever you feel-"

"When is the next meeting?"

The Professor looked a little surprised at her abruptness. "Wednesday morning. 10 a.m."

She nodded and squared her shoulders. "I'll be there."

Xavier smiled. "Excellent."

"Is there anything else you need, Professor?" She wanted to unpack, she wanted that bubble bath, she wanted an icepack for her face, and she wanted all of it before the students were released from their classes and she was barraged with questions.

"_Should_ there be anything else?"

Logan's name hung in the air but Marie staunchly refused to think about him and she knew Xavier too tactful to bring it up on his own. She smiled diplomatically. "Nope."

"Here is your new room key," he passed it to her over the desk, "and you can read the team's latest reports on the intranet."

Marie slid her key into her pocket and stood. "Thanks again." No mention was made of her face. No mention was made of Logan, or her attitude changing from closing the team out to wanting to rejoin it. Good. She headed for the door.

"Rogue?"

She turned.

"Welcome home."

* * *

Logan didn't want to make it a bigger deal than it was. He wanted to approach the situation like an adult. He wanted to stay calm.

He failed.

His fists balling in Scott's ice blue polo shirt, Logan shoved him against the wall of the garage.

"Where IS she?" he growled.

Scott's upper lip curled. "You have three seconds to back off before you're toast."

The urge to respond to such a challenge filled him, but Logan relented. Scowling, he released the younger man and stepped back. Scott re-adjusted his shirt.

"Now then. Where were we? Oh right, hello, how are you, haven't seen you in what...three years? Normal people exchange pleasantries after being gone so long."

As much as Logan hated to admit it, Scott was right. Stalking up to the team leader and attacking him wasn't the best idea if he was planning on staying awhile. However, having to hike back to the mansion with nothing but his thoughts and Marie and Scott's combined scent to keep him company, he wasn't in the best of moods.

"Hello. How are you?" Logan paused, tried to rein in his instinctive hostility. "…congratulations."

Scott grinned in that annoying Boy Charming way. "Thanks." There was another pause in the conversation as the two men tried to relate to each other on a level other than rivalry. "Jean she..._we_ wished you could have come to the wedding."

_I bet_, Logan thought, and kept his mouth shut. "We can go through the picture album sometime." The words were dripping with sarcasm as his impatience broke free. "Okay, pleasantries aside..._where is she_?"

The leader of the X-Men paused, his jaw tightening and his dislike for the Wolverine flaring to the surface once again. "You know, I don't know why I should help you. I saw that nice black eye you gave Rogue." Scott relished the look of shame that crossed Logan's face. It wasn't often he got to ruffle the older man's fur, and it felt good. "In fact, I _should_ kick your ass..."

Scott let the sentence hang in the air.

"...but?" Logan prompted.

"But my guess is whatever you did to her, she gave back to you times ten." Scott's pearly whites flashed. "I would have paid a million dollars to see her take you down a peg. It's just a shame you heal too quickly."

_Yeah, _Logan thought. _It is. _He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair and fidgeted. He couldn't stand still if he tried. "Gonna tell me where she is or not, _Cyke_?"

Scott folded his arms across his chest. "Last I saw, she was going to talk with Xavier."

That was all Logan needed to hear.

He ignored the surprised looks from students and staff alike as he barged through the mansion to Professor Xavier's study. He didn't bother knocking, he just stormed in.

Marie wasn't there.

Xavier glanced up from the papers spread out on his desk. "Logan."

"Where is she?"

The Professor was thin-lipped. "In the MedLab, getting some aspirin and a cold pack."

Logan started to leave.

Xavier sent his disappointment directly to Logan's brain

_That was your idea of being gentle? _

Logan froze, his body sinking a few inches toward the ground. "You were right, okay? I couldn't help her. Not in the way she wants."

"And what way is that?"

There was no answer. Xavier sighed. "Whatever has happened between you two, I expect you to work it out for yourselves. I've prepared a room in the East wing for you. And, as always, you are a welcome addition to the X-Men." When Xavier paused this time, his silence was shrewd. "Unless, of course, you're leaving us again."

Logan glared. "Who said anything about leaving?" he barked gruffly.

"I just assumed..." Cool, manipulative Professor Xavier. He didn't need to use his telepathy to play his hand flawlessly.

"You know what you do when you assume, right?"

The Professor cocked his head, and raised a questioning eyebrow. "What?"

"You look like a dick." Logan stalked out of the office.

* * *

"Training exercise. No need to worry," Marie repeated for the tenth time to the twelfth person in the last half hour. Maybe if she got it tattooed on her forehead...

Jean Grey pressed an antiseptic pad against the scrape on her cheek; Marie hissed and flinched back.

"Sorry," the older woman murmured, and finished cleansing the wound as gently as possible. "Listen, Rogue-"

"I don't want to talk about it," Marie said immediately.

Jean sighed and perched against the steel table opposite her, hooking one leg behind the other. "Because you're tired or because it's about Logan?"

Marie felt herself blush and scowled.

Jean nodded knowingly. "I'm your friend you know. I would hate to think that ancient history could come between us."

"It's not that I don't want to discuss it with you because it's Logan, Jean. I don't want to talk about it at _all_." An icepack was floating across the room toward her; she accepted it and pressed it against her grateful face. "Thanks. And before you even think it, _don't_ go probing in my head like I know you're dying to do."

Jean laughed. "I would never."

Marie rolled her good eye. "Ha."

"Rogue, _you _are my friend. Not Logan. All I have to say is: _screw _him. It looks like he used you as a punching bag. It's _you_ I'm worried about."

"Don't worry about me," Marie assured Jean, "I can take care of myself."

"You closed us out and refused to talk, Scott and I are called away and when I get back you're living in the forest with a man we haven't seen in three years? Just what part of that are we not supposed to worry about?"

Marie growled. "I said, I _don't _want to _talk_ about it."

Jean sighed, giving up. There was a polite knock on the door, and Dr. McCoy walked in. Actually, more like shambled in; his upper torso was so heavy and his arms so long that the blue-furred doctor had taken to walking on his knuckles like a gorilla.

"Her X-rays, Dr. Grey." He handed the folder to Jean and thudded over to Marie while Jean slid the films onto a light box and turned it on.

"Good news?"

Hank McCoy's grin was filled with razor sharp fangs and looked totally out of place and practically villainous on his cookie monster-esque body. "Unfortunately, you'll be one very sore young lady for awhile; that's a hell of a bruise. But there are no cracked ribs. Just take it easy for a week or so."

Jean turned the box off and walked to the medicine cabinet, floating a bottle of Tylenol to Marie. "You'll need these."

"Thanks," Marie said. She plucked the bottle from the air with her free hand and shoved it in the pocket of her jeans. "Am I free to go now?"

"Free as a bird," Dr. McCoy quipped, and retreated back to his section of the MedLab. Marie slipped off the bed she was sitting on and shuffled to the door.

"Marie?" Jean said.

"Yeah?"

"Welcome home."

* * *

The day so far had been a _complete_ disaster. It started off in awkwardness and anxiety and during his sparring match with Marie it dissolved into utter chaos. She was the only person who could worm under his skin so bad and confuse him so much he wasn't sure whether he was coming or going, couldn't decide if he wanted to kiss or kill.

Oh, man, that kiss...he'd never been caught so off guard; not by Sabretooth, not by Stryker or Mystique- _ANY_one. And for a few brief seconds he had been lost in her lips and her tongue and it was so sweet and hot it terrified him. With one move she turned his world completely upside down.

_Fuck._

He'd left to clear his head and when he came back to the cabin, all that was left of her was the scent of lemongrass and a pair of lacy purple panties that were currently stuffed in the pocket of his leather jacket. It seemed wrong to leave them in the cabin.

He wasn't sure what he was going to say to her, wasn't sure he was ready to see her but he knew he couldn't avoid her forever. Earlier in the week they claimed they were friends. As her friend, he needed to know she was all right before he would be able to sleep. Logan was mentally preparing an apology as he stalked through the East wing to where Marie's scent was.

_I'm sorry I hit you. I'm sorry I yelled at you. I'm sorry I kissed you_...more _sorries_ ran through his head as turned the corner to her hall and skidded to a halt.

There was already someone knocking on her door, and _that_ asshole had flowers.

All pretenses of keeping a low profile were dropped; he stalked to Remy LeBeau and grabbed his wrist just as the Cajun raised his hand to knock on her door again.

"Fuck're you doing here, bub?" Logan growled.

Remy's reddish-brown eyebrows raised and he shrugged with exaggerated ignorance. "I am merely here to say welcome home to _ma chere_." His words were innocent enough, but his unnerving red/black eyes betrayed his amorous intent.

Logan's eyes narrowed. "Hit the road, asshole."

"Temper, temper," Remy clucked.

Logan was a guy. He was _that_ type of guy that parents warned their daughters about, and he could sniff out one of his own. Remy wanted one thing from Marie, and it wasn't a friendly hug. Logan couldn't help the way his hand tightened on Remy's wrist, enough pressure building to break the bone. He didn't care; he wanted to-

The smell of electricity burned Logan's nostrils. Remy snarled and his grip on the bouquet of roses jerked as the kinetic energy that was his mutant gift changed the silky red flowers from a sweet gesture to a ticking time bomb that glowed a harsh bluish purple in the muted light.

"_Merde_!" Remy threw the bundle as hard as he could. "Fire in the hole!" he yelled and both men ducked as the bouquet exploded in a burst of energy and wilted petals.

Two seconds later, Marie's bedroom door jerked open and she stood, red faced and panting as the dust and rose bits settled. Her eyes zeroed in on the scorch mark that now decorated the lush oriental carpet in the hallway, before scanning Logan and Remy, who were slowly brushing themselves off.

"What the FUCK are you two DOING?" she yelled.

"Sorry,_ chere_," Remy drawled, stepping closer to her. He glanced at Logan. "I jus' got a little excited to see you, is all."

Marie stared at Logan as he uncurled himself to his full height. There was blood on his forehead from some shrapnel, and as she watched, the wound knitted itself together and disappeared.

"_Logan_?"

His eyes never leaving Remy, whose snide grin could melt butter, Logan shrugged carefully. "What Cajun said. I was just ah...dropping by to see if you were all right."

"…I'm fine." Unfortunately, she said it with her head down and her eyes averted. He could read her like an open book. Two steps and Logan was next to her, and her chin was in his hand. He raised her face, tilting it first to the right and then to the left. She watched his jaw work and nostrils flare when he saw her bruises.

"Is this your handiwork?" Remy demanded in his thick Cajun accent, pointing at her swollen eye. "What, have you come to gloat?"

Logan dropped his hand from her chin and was about to turn on the younger man when Marie grabbed his wrist and shook her head once sharply.

"_No_."

He pulled her closer and for one panicked second Marie thought he was going to kiss her, right there in the hallway, in front of Remy. Her stomach twisted.

"We need to talk," he whispered harshly in her ear.

"No fucking _way_," she breathed, and pulled her wrist from his grip. "I-"

Pounding feet sounded and suddenly half the school was staring down the smoke-filled hallway at the trio.

"Jesus _Christ_, did a bomb go-" Jubilee's eyes widened at the sight of Marie in her dressing gown flanked by Remy and Logan. "...off."

"Not a bomb," Remy explained casually, his hands held palm out in the universal gesture of appeasement. "Jus' me. I was a little overexcited at the sight of her beauty."

The petite Asian's eyebrows rose. "Rogue? What are you doing back?" Her eyes darted to Logan, over to Remy, to Marie's black eye, back to Logan, and realization started to dawn on her face. "Holy shit," Jubilee breathed, a storm cloud crossing her face as she made the connection between Logan and Marie and Marie's injury.

Marie had to do something before the group turned into a lynch mob. She stepped in between Logan and the growing number of students and staff that were cramming into the hallway.

"I am only going to say this once," Marie stated in a loud, clear voice. "Training. Exercise," she over-enunciated, her chin tilting up. "No. Need. To. _Worry_."

Logan's throat tickled with a growl that she felt more than heard. If he started his badass act now, all hell was going to break loose.

"This ends now," Marie hissed to the two men behind her. "You, in here," she grabbed Logan and literally shoved him into her bedroom, shutting the door behind him. "You," she said firmly to Remy, "would you excuse us?"

"Only if you agree to have dinner with me Friday night,_ chere_."

She waved him off without entirely processing what he had said. "Fine, whatever."

"Friday night," Remy promised, and sauntered down the hallway with his hands shoved in his pockets, whistling and looking like he belonged in a Frank Sinatra movie. Marie jerked her door open and slammed it shut amidst a childish chorus of '_oooooooooooooooooooooooo!'_

Logan had taken his jacket off and slung it over her desk chair. He was sitting on her bed, watching her warily. She was almost as pissed at him as she had been that morning. She wasn't even back in the mansion half an hour and already drama was ensuing.

"What the hell went on out there?" she seethed, crossing her arms over her chest and tapping her foot impatiently.

Logan shrugged carefully. "It won't happen again."

"_You're goddamn right it won't_," she railed before wincing. She grabbed the cold pack that was melting on the desk and pressed it against her eye.

"I'm sorry, darlin'," he whispered.

Marie looked at him with her good eye. She didn't mean to; she didn't want him to see the misery and fury that he was the cause of. But something in his voice caused her to turn her head.

He was just sitting there, _looking_ at her with those clear hazel eyes, and the hunger in them was clear. And oh God, it was how he'd _always _looked at her-

Marie's heart stuttered and he looked away quickly, as if he didn't want her to see those things. Marie looked away too, her mind racing. Suddenly clarity hit, and she knew what had happened with Remy.

Logan was _jealous_. Just a few hours ago he had chosen his claws over her lips, had denied her any chance of a romantic relationship, and yet here he was playing the jealous suitor.

She opened her mouth but then thought twice; she couldn't call him on it, no way. One disastrous encounter a day was enough.

"What do you want?" Marie asked finally.

"We're friends, right?"

Her eyes narrowed and she regarded him suspiciously. "Yeah. Why?"

"Friends don't run away," he said quietly.

Oh_, that._

Marie sat on the other side of the bed, well enough away from him as to not smother him, and smoothed her hand through her hair. "Look...I realized something this morning. _THIS_ is my reality, Logan, not hiding away in the forest. And I have to stop running away from it." She paused. "A friend would understand that."

Logan smiled ruefully and shook his head. There were a lot of things he wanted to say, but there were _so_ many they got stuck in his throat. He glanced at her again; she was very studiously gazing at some imaginary object on her desk. Her profile made his heart ache; he could see the girl that she had been and the woman that she had become while he was out roaming around the world.

"Would you excuse me," she said softly, still staring at her desk. "My bathwater is getting cold."

Logan shut the door tightly behind him.


	11. Beginning of the End

Her room number was etched onto the room key. When she entered her new space for the first time, all her possessions were already waiting for her. Fairly presumptuous on Xavier's part, but most of her was so glad she didn't have to move it herself she decided not to say anything. The room was the same size, but instead of three twin beds there was a queen bed, a loveseat, a desk complete with a PC and flat screen monitor that were standard for all rooms, and the best part of all...her own bathroom. After Logan left, Marie lounged in a decadent bubble bath, complete with candles and Nina Simone blaring out of a radio perched on the shelf above the sink. No more fighting with Jubilee over counter space, no more worrying about Kitty phasing through the locked door and invading her privacy...

A smiling brunette poked her head through the bathroom door. Which was a feat, considering the door was closed and locked.

"Knock knock!" Kitty chirped. "Are you decent?" She phased the rest of the way into the bathroom without waiting for an answer.

Marie gawped at her arrogance. "I am in the BATH!"

Kitty rolled her eyes and turned down the music. "Roommates for two years, hello, I've seen it all before."

A flurry of knocks sounded at the bathroom door. "Hey, Kitty, remember me? Girl who _doesn't _walk through walls?"

Before Marie could protest, Kitty unlocked and opened the bathroom door for Jubilee, who wolf-whistled at Marie. "Hey gorgeous. We figured that since you were avoiding us, we'd just assert our presence at a time when you couldn't run away."

Kitty smiled. "Translation: we're barging into your bathroom and there's nothing you can do about it."

Marie rolled her eyes and sighed. She should have known better; having her own room didn't mean privacy in the mansion. Especially with a friend who could walk through walls. "I just spent a week in the forest without a bathtub or foaming cleanser. I'm not avoiding you; I just have priorities is all."

Jubilee perched on the closed toilet seat lid and Kitty hoisted herself up on the sink counter. "She makes a funny! _Wocka wocka wocka_! So," Jubilee said casually, toying with her oversized hoop earrings, "does this mean you're...you know...through being the troubled loner?"

Marie scowled and reached for the shampoo. "Contrary to popular belief, Jubes, my issues with my newly human status weren't going to be solved with tequila and a roll in the hay. I needed to get away."

Silence descended on the bathroom as Kitty and Jubilee exchanged looks. Two sets of eyebrows rose and two pairs of lips tightened.

Marie hung her head. "Fine. Go ahead and ask."

"Did you have _sex_ with _Wolverine_!" from Jubilee was overlaid with a squeaky "Did you _really_ kick his ass like Scott_ said_?" from Kitty.

"Whoa, whoa whoa." Soap spilled into her already sore eye and Marie hissed, pressing a damp face cloth against it. "Number one, I did NOT have sex with him. Number two, w_hat_ is Scott saying?"

Kitty shrugged. "I overheard him talking to Storm. He said you kicked Wolverine's ass. Is that true?"

She held the washcloth away from her black eye. "What does it look like to you?"

"He heals, you don't. Not anymore." Kitty's eyes widened as she realized what she said. "I mean...er..."

"Kits, it's all right. I've gotten...I guess I've gotten used to the idea of being...normal. Human." Marie sighed. "Whatever."

"We didn't..." Jubilee lowered her eyes in an uncharacteristic bout of shyness. "Is that why you went away? Are you mad at us?" The nineteen-year-old Junior X-Man bit her lip. "I'm sorry, you know. I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable."

"It wasn't you. Well," Marie amended, "it wasn't JUST you. I needed to get away and think for awhile."

"And?" Kitty asked.

"And what?" Marie ducked under the water and rinsed the shampoo out of her hair. When she surfaced, Kitty was biting her nail. She resumed speaking after Marie cleared the water from her ears.

"Did you finish thinking? Is that why you came back?"

Now it was Marie's turn to drop her eyes and fiddle with a bottle of lemon verbena body gel. "I guess so." Jubilee poked Kitty in the ribs.

"See," she said to the brunette, "I told you. He's a jackass."

"Who's a jackass?" Marie asked.

"The Wolverine. He must be a real asshole if you ran away from him."

Marie slipped down in the tub and came up spluttering, her nose full of water. "I did no such thing!" Denial; it wasn't just another river in Egypt.

"You came back to the mansion?" Jubilee pointed out.

Marie's eyes watered and she blew bubbles out from her nose. "Yeah?"

"And you didn't tell him you were leaving?" Kitty chimed in.

"So?" Marie scowled.

"_You ran away from him_," the younger duo said in unison.

Now Marie was _really _scowling. She snapped her fingers and pointed at the towel hanging up on the wall next to the sink; Kitty pulled it off the rack and threw it at her. Marie caught it and stood, bubbles sliding down her legs, wrapping the towel around herself. She huffed out of the bathroom, Jubilee and Kitty following close behind.

"Look, you guys, I was ready to come back," Marie insisted. "Logan and I agreed; we're just friends."

Jubilee sprawled on the bed while Marie slithered into a well-worn night shirt. Kitty was fiddling with an empty picture frame on the dresser.

"Did something happen to make you think you maybe _weren't _friends?" Jubilee asked wisely.

Marie's silence was answer enough.

"Spill," Kitty crowed and flopped down on the bed next to Jubilee. She patted at the space between them, her head tilting at Marie. Before she could actually think about it, Marie found herself sandwiched between Kitty and Jubilee, their skin against hers, their vibrant auras spilling across her like a blanket. It stunned her but only for a moment, and Marie had to smile; at least Logan accomplished what he had set out to do. She hadn't thought twice about touching her friends; bare skin contact seemed _normal_ to her now. All she had to do was lose _him_ in the process. Sure, he may not be her only friend, but he was her _closest_ friend. They said they were still friends, but she knew better. Her smile turned into a sad chuckle, and that was really all it took for the dam to break. A tear slipped out, then two, and then her friends' arms were around her and she was sobbing, sobbing, as the events of the last month that she'd been running from finally caught up to her.

* * *

In jeans and a zip up sweatshirt with the X-Men logo emblazoned on the breast, Logan was trying to relax. He was on the balcony that overlooked the back lawn, leaning with his forearms on the wrought iron railing while he brooded over a cigar. He blew musky smoke out in rings.

"Knock, knock."

He didn't turn around at the sound of company.

Jean Grey approached him slowly, running her hand along the railing until she was three feet away. His eyes darted sideways, noted the red hair that was longer than the last time he'd seen her, and the brilliance of her white blouse and even whiter smile before flicking his gaze back out to the darkness of the forest.

"Whaddya want?" he rasped.

"Just wanted to say hi." Silence stretched out into the night.

Logan grunted and he pushed off the railing. He stubbed out the remains of his cigar and faced her. "Hi. Anything else?"

"I see _some_ things haven't changed." Jean shook her head ruefully.

He glanced down at her wedding ring. "I see that some things _have_."

She nodded, twisting the ring around her finger absentmindedly. "Earlier this year. We wish you had come."

Logan arched an eyebrow, and Jean laughed. "Well, Scott was probably relieved, but _I_ wish you had come." She paused. "I'm not the only one who would have liked to have seen you there, either," she finished carefully.

"I was busy." He turned away and leaned against the railing again.

"I saw Rogue today," she said casually, and noted the way his body tightened and his head tilted slightly in her direction before he shook it off and resumed his badass posture.

"Yeah, I did too."

"I heard." Her lips twisted into a smile. "Well, we _all_ heard, actually. The Professor's going to have to replace that carpet."

He snorted.

"That's a nasty black eye she has."

Logan stiffened again. "I don't wanna talk about it."

"Funny. That's exactly what she said."

He stood and started to pace back and forth in a three foot diameter, and Jean could tell he was getting ready to bolt.

"Well, well, I _am_ impressed," she remarked before he could escape.

He threw her a look over his shoulder. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," Jean said innocently. "It's just that this is the first time we've ever talked that doesn't involve flirting or innuendos."

He tried to protest. "You're with Scott."

Jean shrugged. "That never stopped you before."

She turned and walked away. Just as she expected, he didn't follow her.

* * *

Under the threat of death by excruciating torture if they ever opened their mouths, Kitty and Jubilee listened as Marie spilled everything. And not just the stuff that happened in the last week; she told them everything.

EVERYTHING.

How they met. The ball of terrified excitement in the pit of her stomach as she watched him fight. The night he stabbed her. That same night everyone in the mansion saw just how dangerous both the Wolverine and the Rogue could really be. Running away from him. Being found. Being captured and dying and once again her knight in shining adamantium claws came to her rescue. Again he almost died for her. Watching him leave, and waiting a year for him to come back. Living with her secret crush. Watching him want Jean. The craziness of fleeing the mansion and the unspeakable tension between Bobby, Logan, and herself. Watching his face as Jean sacrificed herself, and for a brief, horrifying second, being glad Jean was gone. It meant she could keep Logan all to herself. Why Bobby really dumped her; because he was tired of playing second fiddle to a teenage crush. Jean came back. Logan left again. Marie was all alone with her deadly skin. Managing to convince herself that she was over him. Until he came back to help her.

It was long and painful and she thought her heart would never manage to piece itself back together.

"Maybe you need to try moving on," Kitty said quietly when Marie was done. "_Really_ moving on."

Marie sniffed, her eyes still wet. "I've loved him from the moment I laid eyes on him. I don't know if I _can_ move on."

"There are lots of great guys around. Remy follows you around like a puppy dog. Why don't you give him a shot?"

Marie shrugged. "I dunno...I just...yeah, he's cute but..."

"...he's not Logan," Jubilee finished for her. Marie nodded.

The three girls fell into silence. Marie leaned her head against Jubilee's slender shoulder, and in response her friend draped her arm across her back.

"What should I do?" Marie finally asked.

Kitty slid off the bed. "First...we should hook you up with a badass foundation. Then, you go to dinner on Friday with Remy like you promised," Kitty asserted. "I'll be right back." She phased through the floor and disappeared.

"Man that gives me the creeps sometimes," Jubilee said, a grin wide on her face. "I never know when she's gonna pop up."

Marie snickered. "Want to hear something weird?" Jubilee nodded, so she continued, confidentiality hushing her voice to a low drawl. "Being back, seeing everyone...I realized I…" She chuckled, low in her throat. "I miss being a mutant. Oh, don't get me wrong," she hastily assured, "my gift sucked. But...I kind of liked _not_ being you know...normal. I liked being special."

"You're STILL special, keed," Jubilee lisped and tweaked Marie's nose.

"Got it!" Kitty phased through the door brandishing an industrial strength make-up bag. "I just wanna play around with some skin tones. Sound good?"

Marie eyed the bag skeptically. "You're gonna what?"

Kitty flashed a wicked grin. "Just trust me."

* * *

Time usually didn't fly when your heart was broken, but Kitty and Jubes managed to keep her busy and semi-cheerful despite Logan's deliberate snubbing at the team meeting on Wednesday and his polite but impersonal interaction with her after coffee on Thursday morning. Friday snuck up on her sooner than she had anticipated, and she was having dinner with Remy LeBeau. At a romantic French bistro, nonetheless.

"I really like what you've done with your hair, _petite_."

Remy's red eyes glinted playfully at her over his glass of Château d'Yquem.

"Thank you," she said politely. The smile on her face betrayed none of her boredom, and as she played idly with the rim of her wineglass, Marie wondered for the fifth time just why she had actually followed through on her promise of dinner. She could have chalked it up to his Southern charm or honest interest on her part, but deep down she knew the truth. Even if her heart wasn't in it, she needed to open up to the idea that Logan was not the only fish in the sea...wolf in the forest...whatever.

Remy was charming, she would give him that. His conversation never even went close to inane; he was full of interesting facts and stories about life on the streets of New Orleans. She had to admit, it was nice to be spending time with someone who assumed that ordering tea meant it would come sweetened beyond belief, and who knew the best place to buy crawfish was directly from the fishermen as the boats rolled up to the docks the dotted the Mississippi river. While he talked, she was content to listen.

For awhile.

Smile when he dropped a subtle and sometimes not-so-subtle compliment that was  
laced with authentic bayou French.

Sip her wine and tried very, very hard not to compare this man to Logan.

It was futile.

In between a crisp endive salad with strawberry vinaigrette and the Poulet Veronique, Marie zoned out. Must the man talk incessantly? She missed Logan; he knew when to just shut up.

That wasn't where the differences ended. Where Logan was swarthy, Remy was surprisingly fair. Logan had dark unruly hair; Remy's was auburn and hung in his  
red/black eyes in soft waves. They both had facial hair but Logan's always looked like a three days' growth of facial hair that he trimmed around the mouth before losing interest and letting the rest run wild. Remy's was deliberately groomed and resembled something that a Calvin Klein model would sport in an underwear ad. Both were broad-shouldered and tall but Logan was stocky and Remy was lean. Remy liked gentlemen's games. Logan liked to kick ass. Remy was French restaurants and romantic carriage rides, Logan was pizza and hockey. Remy liked expensive wine; Logan was content with a cheap bottle of beer. Remy was this, Logan was that-

"_Cher_e?"

Marie snapped back to reality. Dinner was over and they were walking along the pathway that led from the garage, where Remy's Mustang was cooling down, to the mansion.

She smiled her polite smile. She had used it all evening and it was starting to wear thin. "I'm sorry, you were saying?"

"I asked if you were cold."

She _was_ a little cold; the smart but elegant black dress she'd picked out for the date was sleeveless. Just about everything she wore nowadays was sleeveless; she was making up for lost time. Marie was about to protest, saying they were almost inside, when she shivered in the cold night air. As gallantly as a knight in shining armor, Remy slipped his dinner jacket onto her shoulders. It was warm and smelled like expensive cologne. It was cloying and made her head swim.

"Would you like to go for a walk, _ma petite_?"

She yawned. "I'm actually kind of tired."

They walked up the steps to the front door and keyed in their personal entry codes. Remy wasn't done trying to prolong the date.

"May I walk you to your room?"

His smile was SO charming, and her heart was SO not interested that it actually made her feel guilty. She nodded her head, and then tensed when he draped a casual arm over her shoulder as they walked up the stairs. He walked a little _too_ close, his hand was a little _too_ familiar, and she had to nip this thing in the bud before she was labeled a tease.

At the top of the grand staircase was a round partition where all the hallways for the second floor intersected. There, Marie stopped him. "Look, Remy..." she began in _that_ tone, the tone that was designed to alert the listener that major things were about to be discussed-

Storm walked by, one snow white eyebrow cocked and a small smile on her lips. She winked at them. Marie scowled and pulled Remy a few feet down a hallway for privacy. They stood in the shadows against a wooden arch in the architecture.

"Look," she said in a hushed voice. "I really appreciated dinner tonight." She slipped out of his coat and held it out to him. He took it silently, his face unreadable. She staunchly continued. "I know you like me, but I have to be honest..." Marie bit her lower lip, internally wincing at how clichéd she was about to sound. "I'm just not...interested...in dating right now."

Remy was quiet for a moment. "Dating in general or dating _moi_?"

"You have to understand...it's not _you_. It's _me_."

A broad grin stretched across his face and he roared aloud with laughter.

Marie frowned. "Do you think I'm kidding?"

"No," he chortled, "I know dis is serious. But oh _merd_e, that's usually _my_ line." He wiped the tears of mirth from his unnerving eyes. "Dis is a big blow to my pride, _petite_. But doan you worry about Remy...he'll survive."

"I am sorry," Marie said sincerely.

He grew somber, possibly for the first time all evening. "He doesn't deserve you." They both knew who he was talking about.

"That's what he thinks, too," she said sadly.

"Den he is an imbécile."

Remy tapped her chin with his forefinger, tilting her head up to his. "Well, _chere_, knowing when to fold has always been one of my strong suits. But, at least let me give you a proper good-bye."

Marie nodded, her breath caught in her throat as she knew what was about to  
happen. He held her face between his hands and leaned close. "Dis is how Cajuns  
say _adieu_," he whispered, and proceeded to kiss her very thoroughly. His lips  
were the same shape as Logan's and he used them the same way Logan did; slow and  
steady and the whole procedure included his tongue against hers. It was deep and  
kind and should have turned her on.

When he drew back, she opened her eyes. She gave him an apologetic smile and  
the hope that maybe- _just maybe_ –he could win her over fell from his face. Three seconds later it was replaced with a rakish grin.

"Nothing?"

She shrugged. "Sorry." She reached up and rubbed a consoling hand across his cheek. "Look, I-"

Movement over Remy's shoulder caught her attention. Her eyes widened and her heart skipped a few beats before painfully restarting. Her stomach had vacated the premises and was flip-flopping down the hallway.

"_Chere_?" Remy asked, turning to follow the path of her gaze.

Logan was standing in the middle of the round vestibule, his head lowered like a bull ready to charge, his hands clenched into fists. Odd though, his focus was not on Remy, but centered one hundred percent on Marie.

"Ah, well...yes. Dis is where I say goodnight," Remy said. He patted Marie on the cheek. "Sweet dreams, _chere_. Remember, if anyone asks, _I_ broke up with _you_." His jacket hanging off of one shoulder, Remy sauntered down the hallway, leaving Marie and Logan alone.

Marie's first instinct was to be horrified that she was caught cheating with Remy. Then anger bubbled to the surface when she realized he had no business making her feel that way; Logan had made it very clear he wasn't interested. He'd ignored her all week to the point of blatant rudeness. So why did she feel so fucking guilty allowing Remy to kiss her?

His footfalls toward her were heavy. Instinct guided her; she knew there was a 300-lb-adamantium-laced fight coming her way. Her chin rose and her shoulders squared as she readied for battle. She met his angry stare with a defiant one of her own, refusing to back down even when he drew so close she could feel his hot breath against her skin.

"I see it didn't take you that long to get over me," Logan sneered; his voice quiet but filled to the brim with outrage. "How long did you wait before going with him? A day? A whole fuckin' hour?"

Marie drew back her hand and slapped him. The blow was cushioned by his shaggy muttonchops, but her point had been made.

"Don't you _ever_ talk to _me_ about _waiting_. I've waited around long enough," she seethed while he rubbed almost absentmindedly at his cheek. "And for your information, I just broke up with him. That was a good-bye kiss."

His teeth were bared. "That didn't look like a good-bye kiss."

"How would you know?" she retorted. "You never say good-bye, you just leave."

"Look who's talking," Logan snorted.

Marie usually considered herself a very rational woman. She had been born and raised as a gentile southern lady. She knew, knew deep down in her heart, that the best way to deal with anger was not to answer it with more anger.

_Usually._

But dear God, there was no one else in her life who could make her so profoundly enraged that she actually saw red. Thanks to years of unrequited love and over a week of sexual tension, it was impossible for her to react with anything less than a nuclear explosion.

"_NEWS_ _FLASH_. _You're_ the one who decided we're _'just friends'._" She drew the last  
two words out like they were a sack of filthy socks after a training class. "That means you have NO say in who I decide to date and NO say in what I do with them." Her voice had left the realm of hushed a few sentences back, and her increasing volume was drawing a crowd of interested students who had nothing better to do on a Friday night. Marie was so furious she didn't notice. "Either I'm a kid or I'm a woman. But pick one, Logan, because you can't have it both ways."

Over Marie's shoulder, he saw Scott watching the entire drama with a smartass grin on his face the likes of which cancelled out all other annoying grins he had. Logan was hurt, he was mad, but now he was embarrassed and horrified that their dirty laundry was being aired in front of the whole damn school. Especially One-Eye and his fucking grin. Out of pure desperation, he grabbed one of Marie's flailing wrists and yanked her to him.

"Quit being such a child and shut the fuck _up_!" he snarled.

Marie jerked her wrist out of his grip, threw her hands up and screeched in frustration. She pushed past him and the shocked crowd of students, storming down the hallway toward her room. "That is _IT_," she screamed, and slammed the door behind her so hard the wood splintered.


	12. End of the Beginning

She tied the strings of her plunging red halter top at her nape and the small of her back in two perfect bows.

She slid silk stockings up her thighs.

She adjusted the buckles of her knee-length leather boots.

Her lips were red and glistening. Her hair was curled and wild. Dark gray powder circled her chocolate brown eyes.

Jubes and Kitty were in the corner and had watched the entire procedure with their mouths uncharacteristically shut. As Marie slid into the ruby leather jacket that she had liberated from Jean's closet, Kitty finally broke the silence.

"Are you _sure_ you want to do this?"

Marie paused. The Ms. Practical and Sensible that lived in her brain, the one that screamed at her when she had made the decision to sneak into Logan's truck almost nine years ago, and the one who agreed with her when she made the decision to leave the cabin four days ago, _wasn't_ speaking up now. It wasn't surprising, considering Marie's plan after Logan belittled her in front of half the school was to dress up like a designer biker slut, hit a bar- _any bar_, and go home with the first guy who offered to buy her a drink. The plan was so outside Ms. Practical and Sensible's world that the small conscientious voice suddenly found herself with a case of laryngitis.

Marie's eyes narrowed. "Absolutely."

"If you're gonna pick up a guy, why not Remy? It's obvious he wants you," Jubilee pointed out, chewing on her nonexistent fingernails; she'd already bitten them off while watching her friend tramp out.

Marie shook her head. No, Remy was too close to home. It wouldn't be fair to lead him on. No, she was out for a quick fuck- a one night stand –with someone she never had to see again.

She'd always considered the part of her that loved Logan to be the best part of her. What she intended to do tonight might very well kill that part. It would also hopefully free her from the hold he had on her heart, the one that prevented her from letting anyone else get close. At this point, it seemed like a fair trade.

"I've made up my mind." The keys to the Lexus dangled from one ruby-tipped finger.

"Don't wait up for me."

* * *

There wasn't enough booze in the mansion to get completely blitzed, so Logan didn't even try. Instead he sequestered himself in his room and wondered what the fuck he was supposed to do next. The idea of running again made him tired. He knew what waited for him on the road: questions that had no answers and long nights alone with bad dreams. He'd come back to help Marie and in a way, he had. Instead of being a lonely victim she was a furious warrior...only it was him she was fighting, not the Brotherhood, not faceless enemies of peace- _him_.

Logan wondered: when had he become the bad guy?

There was a commotion in the hallway. He rubbed his hand over his face wearily; what was going on _now_?

He jerked the door open, a trademark Wolverine scowl on his face.

The fierce frown dropped on the floor and shattered when he registered just what- _who_ -was walking down the hallway toward him.

Marie. Only that wasn't his Marie, the one in jeans and a t-shirt or a fuzzy white sweater that covered her from chin to fingertips. This Marie was _wild-_

Nightcrawler was picking up the stack of magazines he had been carrying for Storm that he had dropped when Marie smiled at him. She walked by Jean and Scott, who had been making their way to their room and stopped dead in their tracks at the sight of her, and she winked at Kitty and Jubes, who were whispering furiously to each other behind their hands.

As she neared Logan's door she sped up her pace until she was striding, her hips ticking back and forth like a metronome beneath her short leather skirt. Yeah, leather, fresh and rich; one sniff told him that.

She merely glanced over her shoulder in his direction before dismissing him completely.

Logan growled. He did not like to be dismissed. Out snapped his arm, grabbing her wrist.

His voice was low. "Where do you think _you're_ going?"

She glanced down at his fist, which encircled her wrist, and one perfectly arched eyebrow rose. He released her immediately.

Marie pushed a loose curl out of her eyes and flashed him a ruby smile. "Out. But don't worry, sugar," she drawled, dripping every ounce of Southern honey she could into the endearment. Making sure she had his attention, she hooked one finger under the hem of her short skirt and pulled it up, exposing first the lacy tops of her stockings and then the leather sheath strapped to her thigh. It came complete with one of her razor sharp knives. "You don't need to protect me anymore," she continued casually, smoothing the skirt back down. "I can take care of myself."

Before he could say anything else, she strode past him, her boot heels taunting him as they clicked down the wooden stairs and out the front door.

* * *

"rrrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRRAA_AAAAAAAAAA_-"

The inhuman scream rang off the steel walls. Adamantium claws cleanly separated a flailing tentacle from the metal body of a robot. If the machines he'd demolished in the last half an hour had been human, Logan would have been covered from head to toe in blood. As it were, there was the slightest hint of blood in the air; he'd been hit a few times. It had been at the height of the training program in the Danger room and he'd barely felt it. To tell the entire truth, his mind wasn't even in the fight. The fight was just something his body could move through, the robotic simulations just something his anger could focus on and destroy while his mind tried to cope with just what exactly had happened - _was_ happening - tonight.

He may have looked like he was in his mid-30's, but his memories were only twenty-two years old. Same age as Marie. Anything before that was a blank. For fifteen years he had been a loner, living day to day, place to place, caring for no one but himself. Then, one night in some shithole town in Canada, a brown-eyed girl had stowed away in his camper. Ever since then he'd had someone to look after, someone _else_ besides himself that mattered. Through her, others had come into his life until he'd found himself in the middle of a family of sorts; a family that didn't mind his gruff ways, his fondness for cigars even though smoking wasn't allowed in the house, and who understood his need for pizza and no distractions during a hockey game. A family that he knew would be there, even when he had to leave for awhile. He hadn't realized it at the time, but he had been content.

And it was slipping through his fingers.

By the end of the night, it would be all over. Someone else's scent would be on Marie, and although he knew he'd said they were still friends after his rejection, he had no idea how he'd be able to look her in the eye knowing he sent her into the arms of another man. He could have settled it once and for all; he could have grabbed her and pulled her in his room and tell her _he_ was the one who needed her; _he_ was the one who wanted her. Wolverine, the fuckin' coward.

He tore the grasping claws from a robot simulation with his bare hands, threw his head back, and howled.

He was so afraid of change he'd pushed her away, hoping it would be like old times, but everything managed to change despite him anyhow. He HAD to accept that, and if he loved her, it had to be because of the way she was now, not because of the way he liked to remember her. It was the innocent, tender, womanly things he'd always loved about her, her tireless faith in him- and he was letting her down. He had come back when she was most in need and only succeeded in torturing her more by stubbornly denying her what they both wanted, because he- the great and powerful Wolverine -was _afraid_. She was twenty-two and he was ageless, but he was by far the more immature of the pair.

Eventually the robots stopped coming. The simulation had ended.

Someone was clapping.

Panting, drenched in sweat, Logan turned to the sound.

Remy was leaning in the doorway, dressed in green sweats with his long hair loose around his shoulders, his bo tucked securely under his arm as he finished applauding Logan's performance.

Logan wiped his arm across his nose and glared. "Fuck're you doing here, bub?"

"Dis is de training room." He shrugged. "Remy came to train." Remy pushed off the doorjamb and flipped his wooden staff about impressively before it came to rest against his shoulder.

"Room's full," Logan growled, annoyed at being disturbed while he was fighting.

Remy sauntered further into the room. "We see."

"And?" Didn't this asshole know enough to be afraid of the Wolverine?

"And what? Dis place is big enough for de both of us." His grin was wicked and it annoyed Logan even further.

"What the fuck're you smiling at?"

"Remy was jus' thinkin'."

Logan's low growl was enough to encourage Remy to continue. "We was thinkin' dat it looks like Remy not de only one needin' to work off a severe case of frustration

Logan's head dipped low to the ground in a defensive position. "Mind your own business."

"Let Remy ask you this," the younger man moved to the control panel built into the wall and punched up a new program. The robot simulation dissolved into a classic gym setting. The lean Cajun began to slide through Tae Kwan Do poses. "Do you really plan on standing by while she t'rows herself at some fool...jus' to prove a point?" Picking up his staff, he began to incorporate the piece of wood into his exercise, never once looking at Logan.

Faced with the truth, Logan had no idea what to say. It seemed to be answer enough.

Now Remy was turning to look at him, his burning eyes serious. "Then what are you still doing here, _mon ami_?" He turned completely and stood tall and regal in the way only an arrogant purebred Southerner knows how to do, his staff coming to a standstill as it thwacked against the polished floorboards.

Logan stood, his legs apart, his torso half-turned to kick Remy's ass for the unspoken dare...and the other half was turned toward the door, ready to run after Marie. The Cajun was right. She was so bent out of shape over him she was willing to bed a stranger; it would only make her hate him more. He loved her- he had to stop her before she made the biggest mistake of her life. He had to tell her how he felt. And anything else that happened, well...they'd deal with it together. He had a shot as long as he wasn't too late.

Logan squared his shoulders, his fists clenched and teeth bared as his resolve solidified. If something was going to change tonight, he was going to face it head on. And that meant finding out one thing.

"_Where did she go_?" he growled.

Remy clicked his tongue at Logan and shook his head. "You doan think Remy makes it _dat_ easy, do you?" he chided. "You want her, you find her yourself."

* * *

One glance at the putz sitting next to her at the bar told Marie she could kick his ass to Timbuktu and back before he even knew what hit him. So why was she allowing him- this lame cliché of a man -to buy her whiskey?

_Because he's the only halfway decent guy in this joint_, she stubbornly told herself, and forced a smile on her face as he lay on the third horribly trite pick-up line in half an hour. She took a hit of the amber liquid and shuddered as its warmth bloomed in her stomach. God, flirting was a huge effort, especially when she didn't really like this clown in the first place.

He- his name was either Dan or Dave, she didn't care which -placed a hand over hers. She stiffened. Her first instinct was to jerk her arm back; not because she was nervous about his bare skin on hers but because he had no right to be touching her so intimately when he didn't know her. She heaved an inward sigh; if she was going to follow her plan through to fruition, he was going to be touching her a lot more intimately than just holding her hand.

He leaned in close, his lips brushing her ear. "You wanna get some fresh air?"

Suddenly, Marie didn't. She looked down at herself. She was dressed like someone who would want to go for _fresh air_ with a random guy, but that wasn't her. She knew exactly where this was headed; fresh air would turn into sitting in his car listening to music, which would lead to what was comfortably coined as 'necking' and then sex would follow: maybe at his place, maybe even in the backseat of his car. Then the whole procedure would be over and she'd be alone. She was slightly tipsy, and she wanted to go home.

"No, thanks." She pulled her hand from his.

And gasped when his fingers tightened on her wrist. She blinked at him, more amazed than afraid. His pretty features had twisted into a drunken leer.

"You ain't leavin, baby."

"Let go," she whispered in a low, scathing voice. It was her version of Logan's growl.

"After all that money I spent on you-"

She shifted on the bar stool, just enough to be able to slip the knife from its sheath, when a dark shadow loomed over the two of them. All Marie heard was the familiar sound of metal against metal, and then the nameless jerk was lifted from his perch and thrown on the floor.

Her mouth dropped open. Logan was staring at her, his face devoid of all emotion. He was in jeans, a black t-shirt, dark red flannel, and his battered leather jacket with the faded orange striped circling his biceps. His claws slipped back under his skin. His gaze slipped from her, to the half-finished whiskey, to the fallen suitor, before coming back to rest on her.

"What the _hell_-" she managed before he hoisted her to her feet. Grasping her upper arm firmly in his grip, he literally dragged her out of the bar. When she dug in with the heels of her boots, he simply lifted her over his shoulder, one arm wrapped around her derrière, one arm holding her kicking legs still. He was silent the entire time.

She, however, was not.

"_Who the hell do you think you are_? Let me DOWN you ASSHOLE!" she screamed, pounding him on the back with her fists. "I can't BELIEVE you would- _OOF_!"

He had dropped her unceremoniously on the back of Scott's motorcycle, which was still cooling in the night air with a series of tired clicks- Logan had driven it hard to get to the bar on time. Her scent had been easy enough to follow: leather and lavender.

Her wind was coming back. She glared up at him. "I'm not going home with you."

One corner of his upper lip curled. "The hell you're not."

Her eyes twitched downwards and as if he had read her mind, he bent down and slid one hand between her closed knees. She was so shocked at the feel of his hand against her thigh that he disarmed her before she could stop him. He slipped the knife out of its sheath and holding it by the blade, Logan flipped it in the air- that cocky _asshole_ -and flung it away. It bounced underneath a car and that was the last she ever saw of it.

Marie's next move was to try and scramble off the bike; he grabbed the back of her leather jacket and jammed her back down with one hand.

He swung a long leg over the bike and waited for her to situate herself, which she did only after he shot her a murderous glance over his shoulder. Satisfied she wasn't going anywhere, he revved the engine.

"But the Lexus-"

"_Fuck the Lexus_," he growled. "Better hold on tight," he said, and that was all the warning she got before he gunned the motorcycle into high gear, a cloud of dust and gravel from the parking lot showering down in their wake. Helpless to do anything else, Marie wound her arms around him; her hands pressed against his flat belly, and tucked her head between his leather-covered shoulder blades.

The ride home was anything but silent, what with the steady roar of the bike as Logan pushed it to the limit, and the wind howling as it plucked at her curls until they were history. She was going to kill him; she was going to fucking _kill him_-

He braked much more carefully than he'd been driving, and the motorcycle banked around the turn into the mansion's gated driveway as smoothly as a schooner cutting through the sea. The gate was open and waiting, and as soon as they were through it automatically swung shut. He coasted up the long driveway before screeching to a halt in front of the garage. The second they stopped, Marie was up and trying to leap off the bike and make a fast getaway. She was getting slow in her old age, however, because Logan had her by the collar of her borrowed leather jacket, and held her firmly in place as he killed the engine and pocketed the keys.

"Is this some sort of fucking test," she seethed, twisting this way and that to no avail; his grip was as solid as, well...adamantium. "Am I supposed to figure out how to defend myself against the big bad wolf again? I did it once before, and I can sure as hell do it again, you-"

A hand clamped over her mouth. "Marie," he growled, "shut the fuck up."

Behind his palm her mouth dropped open, outraged, and he caught her hand right before it was going to connect with his cheek. He shook his head at her and grinned. "We've been through that once before, darlin'. One a day's all you get." He interlaced his fingers with hers in a way that didn't speak of sonnets and flowers but of steel and cages, and proceeded to drag her into the mansion. This time when she tried to dig her heels in, one of them snapped off in the wet grass.

Marie half-shrieked. "Do you know how much these things COST?" she raged as he punched in his key code and the front door opened. Before she could stoop to retrieve the broken-off heel, he had yanked her inside so hard she lost her balance and came crashing against him. He caught her, his free arm wound around her waist and held her in place until she regained her footing.

"Logan," she whispered uncertainly, unsure of what she saw in his eyes.

"C'mon," he growled, and stormed upstairs. With her hand as his hostage, she had no choice but to follow. She didn't, however, follow complacently.

"You think barging in on me is in _any way_ indicative of how a friend would act?" Her words were laced with pure southern drawl; the more pissed off she was, the more prevalent her twang. "You have got some nerve, you asshole-it's my life to do what I want AS I PLEASE-"

"Calm down-"

"I will NOT calm down!" she blasted at the back of his head. "I don't know who you think you are, but you can't just...just...beat up guys I like!"

That halted him in his tracks and she couldn't stop in time; she bumped into him from behind, squishing her nose hard enough to see stars.

He turned. "You _liked_ that asswipe?"

She glared at him through watering eyes. "No, but that's not the point, the point is-"

She was cut off as he strode down the hallway, and she had to almost jog in order to keep her arm from being ripped from the socket. She kept her lips firmly shut as they barreled down the corridor into the East Wing. She thought he would stop at her room; she was wrong. He practically kicked in the door to his room, and shoved her inside. He slammed the door behind him, and for half a minute they were both so worked up they could do nothing but pant and glare at each other.

Marie calmed down enough to be the first one to speak. She licked her dry lips. "You had no right to do that. You. _HAVE_...to get it through your head. You can _NOT_ tell me what to do. You are not my father, my brother, my boss, and you SURE as hell aren't acting like my FRIEND. _FRIENDS_," she emphasized, "wouldn't do what you did tonight."

Logan was looking past her, out the window. "Maybe I don't want to be friends anymore," he whispered, so low that she didn't think she heard him correctly.

"Excuse me?"

For a long time, he stood, staring at her. He slowly shook his head back and forth, as if making a decision to himself. "I _don't_ want to be your friend anymore."

Marie's breath caught in her throat as her heart died a little. She knew when she started this foolish quest that losing him was a very _very _distinct possibility, but it was one thing to think about it and another thing to hear it directly from the horse's mouth. Hearing it actually felt like being kicked in the gut.

"Wh-what?"

He crossed the room in three steps, standing in front of her. He was four or five inches taller than her; she had to tilt her face up to meet his eyes. "You heard me. I don't think we should be friends."

"B-but I don't-" she whispered, her throat so choked up it was painful. Tears pricked at her eyes. "I-"

In one smooth movement, he grabbed her around the waist and yanked her body against his. Marie cried out in surprise as his lips came down on hers; she never thought she'd be kissing him_ ever_ again. Her mind reeled as she fought to keep up with his mouth and what it was doing to her. He drew back and stared into her eyes, his gaze as fierce as his kiss. "It's not enough anymore, Marie, it's just not enough."

"_What's_ not enough?" she whispered, bewildered.

"Being friends with you just ain't enough for me anymore," he rasped, and moved over her mouth again so she couldn't speak. He kissed her so hard and for so long that she couldn't breathe; she had to wind her fingers in her hair and tug sharply before he backed up enough for her to gasp.

"_Logan_…what are you _doing_?"

"I'm putting and end to our friendship." Pulling back only far enough to undress, he ripped his leather jacket off and tossed it in the corner. He unbuttoned his brick red flannel very deliberately, and soon it and his black t-shirt joined his jacket. "Right now."

Her mouth was as dry as the desert at the sight of him, bare-chested, in the moonlight.

"Are you..." She _had_ to ask him; it felt too much like she was Alice falling through the Looking Glass. "...are you sure about this?"

"I've never been surer of anything, Marie," he said soberly. He moved toward her, took her hand in his, kissed her palm so tenderly, so _reverently_ she thought her heart would explode. "I've been an ass," he whispered, "and I'm sorry."

* * *

_Author's Note: If any of you have read any of my stories posted at you will undoubtedly know that I am well known for me more...ahem racy stories...unfortunately, I was banned once from for "illicit content" so I am playing it safe and just omitting all "illicit" bits. Since there were quite a few of them, so much so that it was rather impossible to re-write the next few chapters, I'm just going to creatively edit and apologize if the endings of chapters become abrupt._


	13. Satisfied?

Logan woke up in bed alone.

It was barely dawn; the sky outside his window was still dark blue. His first thought was that he had dreamt last night, all of it- the hunt, the catch, the proverbial kill. Only the pleasant ache at his groin and the scent of Marie in his sheets were too burgeoning to ignore.

He rubbed his hand over his face and looked around, yawning.

Her boots and stockings were perched on top of his desk, and her clothes were still in the pile on the floor that they had landed in from the night before. Unless she walked out of his room in her birthday suit, she was still-

The toilet flushed, and Marie emerged from his bathroom. She had apparently rifled through his closet; she was wearing his navy plaid flannel shirt, the hem of which came down almost to her knees.

"Hey," she drawled in a whisper. She'd washed the remnants of her make-up off her face too. She looked younger now.

Logan propped himself up on his elbows. "Hey."

It had taken them seven years to get to this very moment. He found himself wondering what had taken them so long. He wasn't her father, her protector, or her teacher. They were lovers now. _Lovers_. It wasn't the devastating thing he'd imagined for so long that it would be. As a matter of fact, the only thing he really wanted to do right now was pull her back into bed with him. Was it considered rude to ask her to unbutton that shirt of his she was wearing so he could admire her breasts?

"We didn't use a condom," she said, breaking into his thoughts.

Logan slowly considered that possibility. It'd been such a long while since his last time that the idea of birth control hadn't even popped into his head.

"Are you...?"

Marie shrugged. "I think I'm ok. We probably shouldn't do that again, though."

"You're probably right."

He fell silent, wondering if she meant they shouldn't have sex without protection again or they just shouldn't have sex again, _period_.

"So," she said, too casually to be considered off-hand. "Was this...you know...a one time thing? Heat of the moment, get it out of our system?"

That was the most awkward question he'd ever been asked. Logan cocked his head and regarded her from behind a careful look. "Am I out of your system?" he asked gruffly.

She blushed and shook her head.

He released a breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Same here."

Marie finally let go of the grin she'd been keeping back. As easy as pie she slid back beneath the covers and snuggled up to him in a way he didn't think he'd get tired of. Bits of her kept disappearing and reappearing as she situated herself, wriggling closer and closer until she was almost straddling him.

"You were wrong, you know," he said.

She raised an eyebrow at him.

"I am perfectly okay with you bein' on top."

He made a sound, low in his throat, and then his hand was at her neck pulling her down to kiss her. His tongue was wet and sweet and while he was busy with her mouth she slid her hand between them, pushed him back slightly.

"Condom," she gasped, breaking their kiss, and waited while he twisted to reach the bedside table. There was an unopened pack of latex condoms in the drawer, and Marie couldn't decide whether she was happy the box was unopened or embarrassed that he had condoms in the first place or-

He tore the box open with his teeth, which caused her to giggle most inappropriately, and she found out he could raise a disparaging eyebrow at her while putting on a condom. It was better than walking and chewing gum.

* * *

This time he was considerate and collapsed _next_ to her instead of on _top_ of her. They lay beside each other, panting and grinning and listening to the morning birds begin their sunrise chatter.

"Wow," she said when she caught her breath.

"Yeah," he agreed.

"Huh," she added.

"Yup."

A few moments passed with nothing but the birdsong outside his window. It was the most peaceful moment she'd had in a long time. Her nerves, which had been twanging along the last two weeks like an over strung guitar string, were now dragging on the ground, relaxed and sated. Logan's deep, even breathing lulled her into a dozing state, where she felt like she was floating. She was sore, but in a fabulously pleasant way, like her body had done something it was meant to do. Fulfilled a task, worn itself out, and for once, NOT by kicking the shit out of something.

"Should we take a shower?" she asked lazily.

"Do you want to?"

She considered the idea. "I don't wanna move."

Again she felt more than heard him laugh. "Me neither. Hand me that towel on the floor."

Marie did, with a small groan of complaint that he made her move even the slightest bit, and then settled in again at his side when he was done attending to the minor clean-up detail. "Do you...do you want me to leave?" she asked softly.

"Do you want to go?"

"Nope."

"Then stay."

Marie smiled against his chest.

* * *

It was, in all other senses, an ordinary Saturday morning. The smell of coffee permeated every corner of the kitchen, and the staff of the Institute was lounging around the grounds on their day off.

"Anyone seen Rogue?" Jean said, sidling up to Storm and Nightcrawler, who were sunning by the pool. "She still has my jacket and I wanted to wear it to lunch."

Before opening her eyes, Storm waved a cloud in front of the sun. Decently shaded, she looked up at her colleague. "Jean," she lilted in her exotic voice, trying to figure out the best way to phrase it. Storm's room was right next to Logan's.

"Find something else to wear," she advised.

* * *

This time Marie woke up first, and amused herself by watching Logan sleep. It occurred to her for the first time that she ought to be worried sleeping next to him- he might have a nightmare and lose control. She then dismissed the idea from the look on his face; completely peaceful, with an added shit-eating satisfied grin. He was actually snoring a little even. It was kind of cute.

The down-comforter was long since discarded on the floor, but the sheet was draped loosely across their bodies. Marie took the time to cast a glance at the rest of him. His body was no surprise to her; he liked to work out in sweatpants and nothing else. His idea of casual around-the-house clothes consisted of jeans and a white undershirt...and sometimes just jeans. Hell, the first time she'd laid eyes on him he was half-naked to the waist. However, catching furtive glimpses of him as he worked out and staring unfettered at him as he slept, curled around her, well...

Marie knew he had a killer body, nopun intended. She knewabout the dusting of dark hair across his chest, and how it ran down his belly. She knew how broad he was, how powerful his arms were. But she'd never had the chance to study his elbows at close range. She never realized how soft the dark hair under his arms was, and she'd never had a close-up view of each individual hair that grew out of his face. The skin beneath his unkempt attempt at a beard was surprisingly pale. She softly traced a finger up his bare flank, marveling at the smoothness of the skin there.

She looked up again to find him awake and watching her watch him.

His voice was scratchy from sleep. "Hey."

"Hey," she whispered back. Years of wanting him, of harboring him close to her heart, and of being friends, and she had no idea what was appropriate to say at the moment. So she could say the only thing that popped into her mind.

"Are we still friends?"

He didn't answer her; only looked at her, and her stomach twisted. She resorted to babbling.

"I mean...you said last night you didn't want to be friends anymore. Did you mean it?"

"Yeah," he rasped finally, "I did."

Marie felt cold all over. She started to pull away, but he grabbed her around the waist and hauled her under him, sheets and all.

"I was also serious when I said it wasn't enough." He framed her face with his hands, looking at her like he wanted to memorize every pore. "I don't wanna be just friends anymore." "I gotta have more of you, Marie."

If there was one good trait the Wolverine had that carried over into Logan's life, it was the animal's inability to lie. The intensity and honesty of his gaze overwhelmed Marie to the point of tears pricking at her eyes.

"You got as much of me as you want," she whispered.

* * *

"Has anyone seen Logan?" Scott asked at the lunch table. "He still has the keys to my bike."

Kitty, who had been filled in by Jubes, who overheard it from Betsy, who'd been told in passing by Nightcrawler, who'd been lying next to Storm as she talked to Jean, chewed thoughtfully on her salami on rye.

"You might wanna borrow Hank's Jeep instead," she said after swallowing.

* * *

There'd never been talking after sex. There'd usually only be a brief kiss or a slap on the ass and the woman would be gone. He didn't like to share his bed with a stranger, and the women he'd fucked were _always_ strangers.

With Marie, the idea of a quick slap and shoving her out the door never even popped into his head until she'd brought it up. His response had been immediate: _don't leave_. She made him drowsy, content, and during the brief portions of the night when they slept, there were no nightmares. Only the feel and smell of her, and, after their last round, the taste of her on his lips. Instead of sleep, she was sprawled across him, her chin propped up on his chest, unabashed in her nakedness and the amount of touching that was going on. Her hair looked like an albatross's nest, but he still thought she looked as gorgeous in the sunlight that slanted across his bed as she did in the moonlight.

"I feel like this is a dream. A fabulous, amazing dream," she said as she lazily traced a finger down the line of hair on his belly, "that I'm going to wake up from any second. And when I do, I'll be lying in my bed in the room I share with Kitty and Jubilee, and my gloves will be on my nightstand, you'll still be off on one of your quests and I'll still be the untouchable girl."

Logan poked her in the side. "Touch, touch, touch." He pulled her further up his body. "Y' know, training sessions should be no problem for you now that you're okay with...touching..." This was accompanied by a lick against her earlobe that caused her to raise her head. There was heat in her eyes.

"Sessions with just you and me or sessions with the team?"

"Well..." Logan seemed reluctant to bring it up but the look in her eyes told him she'd retaliate if he didn't finish. "Xavier said you're welcome to join the team exercises any time."

Only members of the X-Men could train during the group sessions in the Danger Room. Which meant the Professor was still offering her a place on the team, even though she was human. The idea was both exciting and scary- face Magneto with nothing but standard fighting skills? Go on missions without her skin to fall back on?

_You don't have _standard_ fighting skills_, she argued with herself. _You're _elite._ Plus there would be a team of X-Men ready to fight with you._

Marie bit her lip. _Was she ready?_ "What do you think I should do?"

He made his shrug very casual. "S' up to you, darlin'."

She thought. It didn't take her long; after the last three or four weeks, her head was finally clear. "I want to stay with the X-Men."

He didn't look happy about her decision, but he didn't immediately fall back into protector mode. Instead he just shrugged. "I'll worry about you. Aw hell, what's new about that, I've always worried about you." He tweaked her nose. She smiled at him, one of those smiles that said exactly what she felt without needing words. This smile said 'I love this guy.'

It was the right moment. He should have said 'I love you.' He knew how she felt, knew she loved him. She deserved to know...

...twenty two years of hiding his emotions were too much to overcome so soon. He knew how he felt, and it was so powerful it actually reeled him into silence. Instead he kissed her forehead and gave her one of his trademark grins and hoped it was enough for now.

"What's so funny?" she demanded.

"Team training isn't until Monday."

"So?"

His body and his heart were on two different wavelengths, and right now his body was ready. "Thirty six more hours."

Comprehension dawned on her face, and Marie blushed. "But I'm hungry," she protested.

Logan eyed her pink-tipped breasts, which were swollen from his previous attention. "So 'm I."

* * *

It was Sunday evening in Westchester, and dinner had just been cleared from the table.

"Has anyone seen the chocolate syrup?" Bobby demanded, rifling through the cabinets for a topping to his scoop of rapidly melting mint chip ice cream. "We just bought some two days ago."

"I saw Logan grab it from the pantry this afternoon. He said it was for a training excercise."

Jean choked on her coffee.

Jubilee's eyes widened. "I wonder which one of them needed tr-"

Kitty clapped her hand over her friend's mouth. "Sometimes ignorance is bliss," she muttered.


	14. Official

All in all, breakfast on Monday in the massive dining hall could have gone better.

Logan didn't want to budge from his bed, claiming she had worn him out. Which looked like the complete and total truth; dark half-circles stood out beneath his eyes and he could barely stay awake long enough to turn down the invitation of food, so she was forced to face the morning crowd by herself. If she had pressed him he would have gotten up- he would have grumbled about it but he probably would have gotten up- however he looked so cute with his head buried in a pillow and his bare ass peeking from beneath the sheet that she didn't have the heart to ask him. Marie would have liked to sleep in herself, but two and a half days of nothing but loving and whatever snacks he scrounged for them, weren't adequate sustenance; she was STARVING. The smell of bacon and fresh coffee reached her even on the second floor, and she nearly drooled all the way downstairs.

She stood apprehensively in the doorway to the dining hall, hoping for the best and expecting the worst. The worst _what_, she didn't know, but her life had drastically changed since the last time she'd seen everyone, and surely _someone_ would know.

Silence didn't fall over the room, the kids didn't look up from their plates, and there weren't any smirks from Storm or Jean, who were sharing coffee by a window and making sure pieces of bacon didn't become flying projectiles by overenthusiastic children. Scott and Piotr and Bobby were engaged in an intense discussion with their heads bent low over their table...Nightcrawler was in an animated conversation that involved both hands and his tail, and Beast was nodding in agreement with whatever he was saying...

In fact, if she didn't know better, she'd say she was being deliberately ignored.

Until Kitty and Jubilee appeared on other side of her, like grinning bookends, while she tried to serve herself some eggs. Before Marie could say anything, her two friends were shooting off fierce whispers with the accuracy and speed of bullets.

"Jean saw you coming down and sent a mental note to everyone not to say anything-" Kitty whispered.

Jubilee interrupted "-not the kids, she didn't tell the kids, but they wouldn't know anyway-"

"Keep scooping eggs onto your plate; don't let Jean know we're talking about-"

"She's a telepath," Jubilee whispered over Marie's eggs to the petite brunette, "she'd know anyway."

"Well gleesh, at least don't make it _obvious_-"

"She said we SHOULDN'T mention it, not that we COULDN'T mention it-"

"GUYS!" Marie said a little too loudly; Scott's visor tilted in their direction. "Calm down, please," she said a bit quieter.

"You have to-" Kitty started, and Jubilee finished for her.

"Spill it _all_."

They made their way to a small table in the corner of the room.

"Spill?"

"You and Wolverine. You fu-"

"JUBILEE!" Kitty was abashed, and actually smacked the grinning Japanese girl. "What have I told you about tact?"

"It's useless for me to try and understand it?"

It was a big deal and it also wasn't. That didn't stop the blush that wormed its way up her face. Regardless, Marie didn't want the entire school to know...that she and Logan had...

An obnoxious grin spread over her face before she could help it. "Quiet _down_ you guys."

Kitty and Jubilee stopped their mindless bickering and leaned in across the table. "That is one shit-eating grin, my friend. So...how was it?"

Mindblowing. Life-altering. Soul-shattering. "How was what?" she asked, trying to be innocent.

Her two friends exchanged a dubious glance. "Oh _please_," Jubilee said. "Honey, there's not a skin cream in the world that can give you that glow."

"Glow?" She had taken a shower...

Kitty leaned in conspiratorially. "Sa-tis-faction. It's so obvious, you have that _'I've just been fucked and it was amazing' _glow."

Marie choked on her eggs. Jubilee whacked her on the back a few times and while doing so accidentally knocked an orange juice in her lap. Marie stood red-faced and dripping o.j. down her legs. When she finally got all her wind back she pushed her hair from her watering eyes and saw that every single person in the dining hall was staring at her. So much for a low profile.

Storm appeared with a glass of water in her hand at the same time that Jean strode to the table with a napkin.

"Here, use this."

"This should help."

Like efficient doctors, Storm and Jean patted her skirt dry and held up a glass of water for her to wash the eggs down while Kitty and Jubilee tried to mop up the spilled juice on the table. Somehow Scott and Kurt got involved in the clean-up process, and Marie was being pushed around like a rag doll, and treated like she was a child. It was painfully obvious that everyone knew.

"Here, let me-"

"Wait, you missed a spot-"

"Your skirt should dry fine-"

"So, how was it?" Jubilee whispered out of the corner of her mouth. The question was followed by a brief slap from Kitty, which was responded to with a smile on Jubilee's Japanese doll face and a brief flicker of lights from her closed fist as a warning.

"Stop-"

"Don't even," Jubilee warned.

"Do you want more eggs? Oops-" Somehow, Kitty managed to spill the rest of Marie's eggs onto her blouse.

Her blouse had been brand new.

The rest of her outfit, by now, was ruined. "OHHHHKAY!" Marie shouted, losing it. "We _DID IT_, all RIGHT? YES, we _HAD SEX _and it was the most AMAZING experience of my _LIFE_! _ARE YOU HAPPY_!"

The silence that fell over the room was so complete that it actually hurt her ears. If she thought everyone had been staring at her before, she was wrong. _Every_ head in the entire hall was focused on her.

And just when she thought things couldn't get any worse-

Logan appeared in the doorway. "Hey, what's to eat around here?"

Everyone in the room swiveled their head from Marie to Logan. He saw the crowd around Marie, the eggs and o.j. that were dripping down her front, and realized that everyone one in the room was staring at him. He took a step back, wary.

"What?" he asked.

* * *

Logan sat on the locker room bench as Marie stripped out of her ruined clothes and slid into her formal X-Men uniform. He was in the women's section of the dressing room, yeah, but they were an hour early for the training session and it was just the two of them. Around them, the other X-Men suits hung in their individual chambers. He was keeping his mouth shut as Marie ranted about the disastrous morning.

She buckled herself into her leather sleeveless top and seethed at Jubilee and Kitty. She pulled on her leather pants and moaned about Scott's knowing grin. It wasn't until her boots were zipped up and she was sliding into the leather jacket that completed her uniform that she realized Logan was uncharacteristically quiet.

"Don't you have anything to say about this?"

His back was to her, and as she watched, his shoulders were shaking up and down, like he had a case of the shivers. She patted him gently on the back, alarmed. "Hey...you aren't upset, are you sugar?"

She stepped over the bench to face him, and saw that he was biting his wrist, red-faced and desperately trying to keep from laughing out loud.

"Oh, fine, go ahead. Laugh," she said crossly, straddling the bench and plopping down on it. "I'm already the laughingstock of the team. Why shouldn't _you_ laugh too?"

Logan regained control and cupped her chin in his hand. "You have to admit, it's _kinda_ funny."

"I admit nothing." Marie pouted, and pulled half her hair back into a clip. That done, she bowed forward until her head rested against his chest. He felt like a brick wall, solid and comforting. His arms automatically came up to cradle her. It was a warm and peaceful feeling and she honestly wasn't sure about how much longer she was going to get to, for lack of a better word, _keep_ him. The entire school knowing about their affair may have quenched any desire he felt for her and-

"Logan?"

He'd been picturing her bare back as she slipped on the leather bodice, and it took him a moment to reply. "Mm-hmm?" Christ, they'd spent almost three straight days in bed, news of their sexual escapades were running through the school like wildfire, and still he was as horny as a teenage kid peeping at his first girly mag. Where was his shame?

Unaware of his thoughts, Marie lifted her head and frowned in seriousness. "What...what are we supposed to tell everyone? About us?" she asked tentatively. She wanted to know.

"We'll tell them..." he rasped, "...that you're my girl." He couldn't miss the surprise in her eyes.

"Why I do declare," she whispered when her heart started beating again. There was no other way she could think of dealing with such an overwhelming statement except with syrupy sweetness. "Wolverine, _are you asking me to go steady_?" she asked with a mock-drawl, batting her eyelashes coquettishly.

"So what if I am?" His tone was too gruff, but he couldn't help it. _Fucking_ he did well; being in a relationship: that was undiscovered territory.

"Goodness gracious," Marie simpered, her hand pressed to her chest. "My heart is all a-flutter." Actually, it was more like her stomach had imploded and exploded at the same time, but she wasn't about to die, not when she was officially being asked out. "I think I am about to swoon, I-"

"Marie?" he growled.

She knew what was coming. "Shutting the fuck up." Her smile was pure Southern sass. He fell for it, hook, line, and sinker; in a flash his hands were around her waist, scooting her along the bench until she was practically straddling him.

"So?" he murmured, burying his fists in her hair. "You gonna leave me dangling or what?" God, he loved the smell of Marie in leather.

"I ain't tired of you yet, sugar. Sure...let's go steady."

He didn't have a clever retort handy; he was too busy kissing her.

A throat cleared behind them. Logan swiveled around and in the doorway was Remy, his arms crossed and a wiseass smirk on his face.

"Get a room," Remy deadpanned.

* * *

He didn't do holding hands. He didn't do public affection. But Logan was more than happy to punch Cyclops for getting in her face during the team training session.

They were dressed, they were warmed up, she were prepared. And Cyclops was making her stay behind in the Blackbird to run communications while the team ran a training mission. Everyone was quickly finding out that while _Scott_ was a friend of Marie's, _Cyclops_ was sure a jerk to Rogue.

"I held my own against Wolverine, no mutant ability whatsoever," she argued.

"Training with Logan and fighting a rampaging Sabretooth are two different things. You _can't_ be a short range fighter anymore," he reasoned, even as her face grew darker. "Training you on communications and long-range weapons is much more efficient."

Her voice was dangerous. "You mean much _safer_."

Cyclops didn't flinch. "That too." His response was met with a cold stare and he frowned. "I'm not talking about sitting on your ass you know, I'm talking about being the backbone of the team. Radio ops. Sniping. Storm, Jean and I are the long range fighters and we could certainly use some help."

"Last time I checked, Piotr's still in Russia. You're down one short range."

He finally lost his temper. "Why are you trying to fight me on this?" he asked crossly.

"Why are _you_ putting me on the back burner? Am I or am I not still on the team?" she demanded.

Cyclops opened his mouth and the wisely closed it. Judging by the look on his face, whatever he was going to say was going to be very un-leaderlike.

She was stubborn. "I want my old spot back."

"You're no good as a short range fighter anymore. My decision is final." He turned to walk away, and was stopped by a seven inch blade that thunked into the floor two inches from his right foot. He turned in disbelief and there was Rogue, two more knives in her hands, in a classic defensive posture.

"Give. Me. A _chance_," she seethed.

"Scott," Jean said, breaking the silence of the rest of the group that was standing uncomfortably by during the entire exchange. "Don't-" She broke off, her eyelids fluttering from the force of her husband's thoughts. He was obviously telling her to stay out of it.

"Rogue. I trained you. I do not doubt your skills. But you're not ready for this."

"Try me."

"No."

"Try me...or I quit the team," she threatened.

Cyclops sighed angrily, but relented. "You really want to do this?"

"Me and you. You win; I'll train as a long range fighter. I win; you let me have my old place back on the front line." It wasn't about being right or wrong any more, it was about not letting herself be underrated just because she was human. She could do it, and she had to show everyone she could.

"Agreed. X-Men, adjourn to the observation deck."

Nightcrawler teleported, but the rest of the team filed past Cyclops and Rogue on their way out the door. Logan glanced at her as he filed out; her face was unreadable, distant as she mentally prepared herself. He winked at her anyway, and just as he thought maybe she hadn't seen him, she smiled, slow and deliberate and just for him.

He grinned back. She was gonna kick One-Eye's ass.

It began.

Cyclops thought he could take her out, quick and easy, with his psionic blasts. What he didn't count on was an assault with her knives and high kicks that were so aggressive that he didn't have time to reach for the trigger on the side of his visor; he was too busy defending himself.

She knew that as a fighter, Cyclops's weakness was his visor. It cut off peripheral vision, and _without_ the visor he was crippled into blindness. Unless he dared open his eyes, which of course would mean unprotected psionic blasts that could take out both teammate and enemy alike. Marie would never take advantage of a friend's weakness, but Rogue would most definitely use that knowledge to her advantage in a fight. Which she did. Flawlessly. Right in between a roundhouse kick and a vicious right punch, she maneuvered close enough to crack the ruby quartz of his visor with the steel handle of her blade. While he was reeling, she ripped the visor completely off. She felt a little bad about ruining his very VERY expensive visor, but it was worth it to see the disbelieving look on his face (his eyes closed, of course) when he felt the tip of her knife against his throat.

"Say uncle." Her voice was flat; as much as he deserved it for making her prove herself to the team she already belonged to, she hated taking her friend down a peg.

He muttered a very tight '_uncle_' and Rogue immediately retreated.

"Mutant or human, everyone has a weakness," she said. "I can find it every time."

In the observation deck, Logan smirked. "That's my girl."


	15. Resurgence

Marie finally had everything she ever wanted. Her skin was no longer a barrier between herself and the world. She had a home. She had a family that accepted her no matter what. And the man that she'd lusted after since she was fifteen was lying next to her in bed.

_So why couldn't she sleep?_

She lay tucked against Logan's front, wide awake in the dark. She was sore between her legs, but in an extremely pleasant, well-used way. His light snores wrapped a comforting blanket around her, but for the first time since Logan had made it clear to the staff and students that she was his woman, Marie sensed something was…wrong. There was something she was _missing_, something that was hurtling toward her to crush the happy reality she finally managed to obtain. _But what was it_?

She could only assume the feeling was fear: fear that nothing this good could last forever. Fear that when that time came, when it was gone, she wouldn't be able to continue living.

Logan was happy. She was happy. _They_ were happy. They officially moved in together last week; her stuff had been integrated into his as easily as a missing puzzle piece completing the picture. There were no fights, no awkwardness, only an utter contentment that she knew glowed as much in her eyes as it did in his. _Why_, she asked herself, _why couldn't she just be happy_?

Because nothing this good can last forever.

Marie scowled in the dark, and it turned into a sigh. There was no use lying around, waiting for dawn; she was buzzing with energy. Might as well work some of it off.

As quietly as she could, she slid from the bed and into a t-shirt, hooded sweatshirt, and jogging pants. She grabbed her running shoes and tiptoed from the room as quietly as possible. Logan didn't even budge.

It was still pre-dawn, and the mansion was quiet, save for the light sounds of the television coming from the Recreation room. Marie crept down the hall and poked her head in. Jean, her hair tousled and dark circles under her eyes, was flipping idly from station to station.

"Hey."

Jean looked up, and smiled. "Hey."

"Can't sleep?" Marie asked, balancing on one foot as she shoved her other foot in the sneaker and tied the laces.

"Some of the students are having major nightmares. They're projecting so strongly I can't sleep."

Marie lost her balance with the other shoe, and leaned a hip against the couch. "That sucks."

"Going running?"

"Yeah."

Jean's grin was enormous. "I'm surprised you still have the energy."

Marie had the good graces to blush, but she couldn't help the answering grin. "Is it that obvious?"

"Earplugs in the staff wing are now mandatory. But don't worry," Jean assured hastily, "everyone is thoroughly pleased that he finally got his head out of his ass."

Marie perched on the edge of the couch. "Even you?"

Jean muted the TV. "_Especially_ me. I think you're the best thing that's happened to him in a long time. Plus," she grinned, "I'm a romantic at heart. I know how long you've loved him, and I know how long he wrestled with loving _you_."

"Telepathy?"

Jean shook her head. "Friendly observation." Her eyes narrowed. "You're wiggling an awful lot for four a.m. What is with the energy? Seriously."

Marie looked down and found she was fidgeting. In fact, she was buzzing with pent up energy; the desire for a good run was overwhelming. "I dunno. Making up for sleeping in so much when I was a kid I guess." She stood and started to stretch out, going through a blend of yoga and traditional warm-ups. Jean started flipping stations again, finally settling on an old black and white movie starring Jimmy Stewart.

Marie finished stretching. "I hope you can get back to sleep." She held out her hand in support, Jean took it and squeezed it.

"Me too."

On her way out, Marie stopped and turned back. "Hey Jean…if you're still up when I get back, do you want to drive to town and get some breakfast? Just us girls."

Jean smiled a tad quizzically. "I was just thinking that! Absolutely, sounds great."

"Awesome. I could sure go for some sausage."

One red eyebrow rose. "I thought you didn't like bacon."

Yeah. She _didn't_ like sausage. Logan was the one who liked plates of it, but right now Marie wanted it so bad she could almost taste it. She shrugged. "Call it a craving."

"Have a good run." Jean turned her attention back to the television and Marie slipped out into the night.

* * *

The moon, fat and full and low in the west, called to her. She had a normal route that wound around the mansion and the gardens, but she'd already circled it twice and still found herself thrumming with pent up energy. In the hush before dawn, everything was so beautiful. The smell of the frost on the grass filled her nose, the sounds of a sleeping forest filled her, exhilarated her, until she was no longer jogging or running, she was flat out racing through the woods. Her lungs were on fire and her breath was a heavy rasp in her throat; to her ears she sounded not like a woman but a heavy animal.

She could see perfectly well, even through the sun was only a small promise on the horizon. _Must be the full moon_, she mused, but still there was an itch at the back of her mind that wasn't being scratched. _She was missing something_. Her initial reaction was to analyze and then analyze some more; she didn't like feeling like something was off kilter. And something was definitely off-kilter, something more so than initial relationship worries…she just didn't know what.

_Nothing good lasts forever_, she thought crossly, _but can't I enjoy it for one fucking week without nitpicking_? That decided, she firmly shut down her brain and focused solely on the run.

Each time a foot hit the packed earth and the shock of impact ran up her legs, more adrenaline was released into her system until she felt she could drop down on all fours and lope through the fields as if she were a cheetah. Hell, she felt like she could breathe underwater if necessary, or if she spread her arms she could fly like a bird.

Marie raced all the way out to the lake, five miles easy, in under half an hour. It was much too cold by now to even consider a swim, and dawn was fast approaching when she turned around and started back to the mansion at a mild run. The idea of breakfast with Jean was making her drool, and she was starting to fantasize not about Logan's ass but about a plate of sausage.

She was passing by a section of forest that ran parallel to the state highway, when the scent of something disturbing made her trip over her own feet and sent her sprawling into a thicket of thorn bushes. Cursing under her breath, she extricated herself as gingerly as possible. She felt thorns swiping at her bare hands and an especially stinging slice across her cheek that she was sure had drawn blood, but when she checked, there was nothing but smooth skin.

Before her mind could wrap around this new piece of information, that out-of-place scent reached her nose again, and she reacted like a horse who caught wind of a rattlesnake; she set off at a dead run toward the mansion. All of her rationale was gone, replaced with an animal instinct that Logan would have been proud of, and she made it back to the mansion in seven minutes.

The front door to the mansion was ajar.

Deep in her throat, Marie growled. Her head dipped down, wary of every angle as she eased into the entryway, her nose lowered to the ground, testing the air. There. There it was: that odd scent that triggered her unease. She followed it down the hallway and into the kitchen where she ran smack into-

"Bobby!" she exclaimed, her mind automatically halting the fist her hands had formed, trying to cancel the attack mode she was in. "What are you doing up this early?"

Bobby smiled and cocked his head. "I might ask you the same question."

Marie laughed shakily, the tension she'd carried for the last twenty minutes draining and leaving her feeling very foolish. She rubbed at her sweaty neck. "I went for a run. Couldn't sleep."

"I couldn't sleep either."

"Hey…did you see something…weird…just now?" She peered into every corner of the room and analyzed every shadow, but everything seemed to be in place.

"I saw _you_."

She shook her head. "No, I mean…I thought I...never mind. You sure you didn't see anything?"

He glanced over her shoulder then back at her. "I'm sure."

She half-turned, saw an empty hallway, and frowned at Bobby. "Am I keeping you from something?"

"No."

"Good." Her heart was getting back to normal, and her brain was functioning on a full tank of gas again instead of emergency reserves. She rubbed at her face, a very Logan-ish gesture. "I guess I just need more sleep."

He raised an eyebrow, but didn't answer.

Bobby's non-conversation and the tense line of his body starting to worry her. "Are _you _okay?" He looked like he didn't want to be anywhere near her which was odd; despite their past history, they were still teammates and friends. Not as close as they used to be; he'd been busy with his girlfriend and she'd been busy with-

"Ohhhhhhhhhhh," Marie said, realizing. "I know what's wrong."

Bobby's tone was succinct. "You do?"

She nodded. "Yeah. Look…let's get everything out in the open, clear the air."

"Clear the air," he repeated in a monotone.

"What are your thoughts on…?" She stopped. Bobby was looking at her so oddly, and for some reason her tongue was stuck to the top of her mouth. She'd seen this situation before in soap operas; women discussing their current lover with ex-boyfriends. Usually in the soaps there was yelling and tears and sometimes gunplay involved. Marie shook her head and grinned; they'd dated five years ago. It was all ice water under the bridge. "…Logan and I?"

She expected a sheepish grin and an assurance. What she got was a deadpan stare.

"Well?" she finally asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

"What _about_ Logan and you?"

In five words Bobby was causing her to re-evaluate their friendship. Dear God, was he jealous? She started to get angry;_ he_ was the one who had dumped her when her skin became too much to handle. _She_ was the one who had to watch him saunter around with various girlfriends while she'd spent her formative years as a quasi-nun. "What the hell's wrong with you?" she demanded, sounding harsher than she'd like but unable to help it. She'd been expecting someone to oppose her relationship, but she thought it would come from Cyclops or Xavier. Not-

Bobby was as still and cold as ice. "I don't have a problem with Logan and you," he finally said.

Marie was taken aback and relieved all at the same time; she'd been gearing for a fight. "Oh. Okay. Well…good." It _was_ good. "I mean…we don't need people's blessing or anything…but acceptance is nice, you know?"

Bobby snorted violently, his lips pressed together in a grimace, his blue eyes widening and somethingflared in their depths that turned her blood cold. She just saw the perfect definition of _realization_ in Bobby's eyes.

For some reason, Bobby didn't know she and Logan were together.

It was impossible for Bobby not to know.

Unless it _wasn't_ Bobby in front of her.

Her eyes widened in alarm. Marie opened her mouth to call for help, but the breath locked in her throat as his hand shot out and clamped around her windpipe. She gagged on the unuttered scream, her bare hands clutching at the Bobby-thing's grip of stone. She was lifted off her feet and the pressure at her throat made her feel like her head was swelling like a balloon.

Bobby began to change. His image swam even as the iron grip was released and she collapsed on the floor, clutching at her throat.

On her hands and knees on the cold tile floor, gasping for breath, Marie looked up. Her heart lurched painfully behind her breast and the scent she'd been tracking all morning slammed into place. "_You_."

Insane yellow eyes glared out from a cobalt blue face, and Mystique smiled. "Hello!" The smile turned into a snarl. "_Good-bye_."

She snagged Marie by the hair and dragged her to her feet; a syringe in her hand filled with God knows what. From the way Mystique held it, Marie knew it was aimed for _her_.

Marie's reaction was a perfect blend of animal instinct and trained fighter. Up came her arm to block the needle while she moved_ into_, not _away_ from, Mystique's grip on her hair. Mystique, for her part, reacted just like Marie had two weeks ago when Logan pressed into her blade; she loosened her grip. That was all it took for Marie to kick the syringe out of the shape shifter's hand. Bracing herself, she shoved the shape-changer as hard as she could.

Mystique tripped over one of the kitchen stools, sending her crashing over the island that was in the middle of the kitchen. Pots and pans clattered to the ground in an explosion of noise.

_God, someone has to be coming down soon_, Marie prayed. With all this racket, she just had to keep Mystique here until back-up arrived-

"Why'd you come back for me?" Marie rasped, trying to stall. "Haven't you done enough?"

"Silly girl," Mystique's metallic voice chided. "We're not here for _you_." She smiled cruelly. "You were just a means to an end."

Marie experienced a moment of perfect understanding. Who was the one mutant that never stuck in one place long enough to track down? Who was the one person he'd come running back for?

Marie felt like she'd been kicked. "No."

"Won't Wolverine be pleased to know that _this_ time," Mystique hissed, "it _IS_ about him."

The blue mutant leaped over the island with catlike agility and wrapped her hand around Marie's throat, slamming her up against the cabinets.

Marie couldn't break the grip, couldn't land a solid kick, couldn't do anything but wait as the breath was squeezed out of her. She was trapped, the kitchen was starting to blur as her oxygen ran out, and the panic she'd been keeping at bay suddenly simmered over. An adrenaline rush washed over her, ten times greater than anything she'd felt during her run. Her body seemed to swell and grow hot, and amidst the burst of energy and the fact that she was most likely dying, the itch that had remained in the back of her mind for the last few days suddenly decided that it needed to be scratched, and it needed to be scratched…

…_**NOW.**_

A familiar tingle crawled over Marie's skin. And suddenly she understood why she'd been feeling like something was coming. Why did she have Logan's craving for sausage? How had she known Jean wanted to go to breakfast? Why could she run and smell and see as well as the Wolverine?

_Who had she touched recently?_

There was only one answer.

Horror at dying was replaced by the horror of what was happening, and Marie's realization bled onto Mystique's face.

Both women started to scream.

* * *

Logan woke up to a nightmare.

Everything was hazy, blurry, like he was underwater. For a horrible moment he thought he was, he was back in the tank, back at the lab, and panic gripped him. He tried to move, tried to rip and tear and break free, but he felt like he was trapped in molasses.

And there was screaming.

_Marie_ was _screaming_.

Hearing Marie scream from two floors below and being unable to get to her ripped his heart in two. But for some reason his joints wouldn't work and he felt every ounce of his 300-lb adamantium skeleton weighing him down. Actually, what he felt like was _exactl_y how he felt after close encounters with Marie's mutant power.

He fell out of the bed. Growling, he pawed his way to his feet. The first step felt like it took him minutes, the second step longer. But it didn't matter; Marie was screaming.

Lunging out the door, Logan barreled down the hallway. He felt like Frankenstein's monster with the way he was lurching and weaving with each step, but the more he moved the clearer his head got.

With the sound of metal on metal, he sprung his claws. Anyone who wanted to keep their head on their shoulders got out of his way as he leapt off the second story landing to the marble-covered foyer below. He broke one ankle but he didn't even notice the pain as he tore down the hallway to the kitchen, following Marie's scent.

He exploded into the kitchen with the force of a neutron bomb. And thought that's what it looked like the kitchen had been hit with: a bomb. There was shattered glass and dented pots everywhere, all covered in a fine layer of spilled food.

"_Where is she_?" he roared.

Jean and Nightcrawler had beaten him to the scene. They were around the corner of the island, staring down at _something_ with a look of horror on their faces.

Or some_one_.

Logan was a metal fucking statue. He sheathed his claws and mentally tried to prepare himself for the worst possible scenario: that he had lost her. He was an emotionless robot as he moved into the kitchen, his eyes drawn to whatever they were looking at like a pedestrian at a car wreck.

A cobalt blue body lay on the electric blue tile floor. As Logan watched, she moaned and stirred.

Out came his claws again. He was going to carve her up like a fucking _turkey_.

"Logan, no-" Jean moved in front of him, blocking him from Mystique.

"_She's mine_," he rumbled so low he doubted she heard him. "She'll tell me where Rogue is, and then I'm going to make a wallet out of her _fuckin' _skin."

Jean, for some god unknown reason, was shaking her head 'no' over and over again, and Logan wondered if she knew exactly how close he was to gutting her just to get to the shape shifter. He had a score to settle with that grinning bitch, and no one was going to stand in his way.

"_Where is she_?" he howled at Mystique.

"Logan," Jean said, horror and awe married together in her voice. "…this IS Rogue."


End file.
